A hens tale
I have Thirty-Three 1500 word assignments to mark this evening so here I am updating my blog instead!
I’m safe and sound back on the rock and I can’t deny I’m pleased to be back. I was desperate to get away. I was looking forward to unbroken sleep and indulging my every whim without considering others at all and for the first couple of days I really did.
On Friday morning I went back to sleep after my sister went to work. Then I got up, ate a leisurely breakfast, had a leisurely shower and then wandered around the Charity shops of Fort William before eating a leisurely lunch, repacking my bag in a leisurely way………you get the idea.
The final location of the magical mystery hen weekend was Dublin. I was really the driving force behind our decision to go to Dublin so I did feel a certain amount of pressure that the weekend had to go well and it really did. Of course there was the odd glitch. The hotel was not quite as posh as I might have hoped for. You had to wear very strange hats in the swimming pool. The hotel staff had clearly never heard of afternoon tea and some of them didn’t know what pairs of scissors were. We ran out of pritstick and Jen had to finish Mairi’s hen book using superglue and bits scraped out of the stick with a broken make up brush. Then the hotel tried to double our bill and one of the hens realised that she had booked herself to go home on the 27th of June rather than the 27th of May. There was the odd spat too, you can’t have six girls living in close contact for 48 hours combined with alcohol and lack of sleep without a certain amount of crying in the toilet. I’m proud to say we have all remained friends though.
Anyway we had a wonderful time, spa day (although I had to cancel my massage as I was warned it might make my beloved tan patchy), Mr and Mrs quiz (during which it became apparent that Mairi really knows her fiancee very very well). Afternoon tea with presentation of the the aforementioned hen book (a photo album with entertaining anecdotes from all of the hens). Dressing up in Moulin Rouge style outfits and then wearing them out to dinner and to a night club. Then a good nights sleep before heading off to the races in our stretch limo driven by a lovely man who really was called Dermot O’Brian.
We didn’t see a lot of Dublin but what we did see was wonderful. Dublin appeared to love us too. As we walked down the street from the restaurant to the night club it became apparent that six girls in corsets and tutus are quite a spectacle. Not only did we attract the attention of the numerous stag parties who were wandering the streets we were also asked to pose for pictures by hen parties and Japanese tourists. I would be very interested to know how many tourists went home with us in their holiday snaps. It was the closest I Will ever come to being a celebrity and I must say I enjoyed it.
By Sunday morning though I was beginning to struggle. Much as I fought it I was really missing my girls. Particularly Sally. I think there is just something inherently wrong in a mother being in another country from her eight month old baby. Every time I expressed milk and threw it down the sink I felt guilty and every time I saw or heard a baby it looked like her. In the airport I saw a baby around the same age and it reminded me so much of her that I found myself having a little cry in the toilets.
So here I am back amidst the nappies, the enormous piles of laundry, mismatched socks and broken toys. Our kitchen smells of lambs milk and dog. Our house has been overrun by woodlice and I keep finding bits of food splattered on the wall nearest Sally’s high chair. Allan and I have spent the day juggling childcare along with the shop and our various other projects. I’m so happy to be back. I’m not saying I never want to go away again but I don’t want to go away for a long long time. I’ve got too much marking to do anyway.