Maybe it’s this house. It’s giving me delusions of grandeur that I shouldn’t otherwise possess, but for once - just once (I’m not a greedy person) I would love to be glamorous. You know, really ‘footballers’ wives’ kind of groomed. Okay, bear with me and I’ll explain where this is going. Last night - taking advantage somewhat of our visitors - we went out. I know! Outside - at night! I was so shocked when hubby asked that I nearly fell over. We were invited out to the posh marina town where my own personal posh restaurant resides to have drinks with Hubby’s work mates.

Panic set in and I had to rush and unpack the final couple of boxes that I had omitted to label when we moved just in case there were any remotely ‘going out’ clothes in it. The first box contained about four duvets that I never knew we had anyway, and the second box contained the cups and saucers that used to belong to my Grandma. Hmm..back to the drawing board then.

When I’d finally flung every item of clothing that I owned out onto the bed and completely covered the carpet, bed and bedside tables in clothing, plus run through a very unattractive line of increasingly unpleasant swear words, it hit me that I’m just never going to be groomed. I found a pair of loose white linen trousers that I’d bought a while back, picked off all the orange fluff that they’d attracted from the carpet and even ironed them, all the while ignoring frantic texts from Hubby who was waiting at work for me (R U bldy cmng or wot?!). I then had to dig under all the clothes to get to the drawers so that I could find a pair of white knickers, as pink and purple spotted shorts show through white linen (noooo). I teamed them with a plain camisole and a fine knit cardigan and thought yes, this is good - classic, simple and unfussy. Then I looked in the mirror and realised I looked like I was just off to bed in my jimjams. I just can’t do smart. Then I decided it was because my hair was messy, burned my ear with the straightening irons (you’re allowed to say ‘feck’, I explained to #1, it’s not a swear-word here - they even print it in the paper) and decided I would have to do.

Well, anyway his workmates were very nice. I’ve never seen so many people in one pub that were completely inebriated. Not just happy, but full-on Irish plastered and very friendly in a kind of hiccupy way. So I suppose even if I had wafted in hand in hand with Hubby, sporting perfect nails, immaculate clothes, straight shiny hair and understated make-up, they probably wouldn’t have noticed as they were too busy staggering around talking over the top of each other and saying ‘feck’ a lot themselves. I did get a compliment though - one of Hubby’s workmates said I was ‘gorgeous’. This otherwise uplifting moment was somewhat ruined by the loudly stifled snort of laughter which came from Hubby’s direction.

Don’t worry, I have plans to get my own back. When we were driving home I told him that I’m going to ‘glam up’ and not only is it going to be expensive for him (manicures, highlights, the works..) he’d better beware because I might be out of his league when I was finished. Either that or I could burn him with my straighteners.

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