Women behaving badly

Despite being one down in our merry little band of badly behaved women on account of Megan having temporarily fled the nest so to speak, we are already planning our next adventures.

It all began on my fiftieth birthday when as usual I was avoiding the necessity for a ‘big bash’. Glad to go to other people’s but not too comfortable organising my own. ‘You know what I’d love? Let’s all jump in the car and go to the seaside’. And that’s just what we did. And we’ve been doing it ever since maybe once or twice a year. It’s a bit like a school outing for eleven year olds just with more wrinkles. Day One the excitement is palpable as we drive down with Mandy at the wheel. She’s not necessarily totally in control or that’s how it seems to the passengers. She has a disconcerting habit of shouting ‘Wheeee’ as she floors the accelerator peddle to the Porsche on a straight road and we take off like a bat out of hell. Megan has got into the habit of clasping the upholstery and muttering ‘Are we nearly there yet?’ as we swing round yet another hairpin bend at breakneck speed. What follows is a crash course in what you tell your own teenagers not to do when they first taste freedom in pubs and clubs. Thankfully we are sensible enough to remain indoors. Usually we keep the doors safely locked but sometimes one of us escapes. So far we haven’t lost anyone.

As we always peak too early Day Two is understandable rather quiet. One year we didn’t make it back until well into Day Three

But now we have new pastures to explore. The beach house is sold, we’ve already terrorised Amsterdam and so we have to plan again. I’m sworn to secrecy as no-one’s told their other halves (except me), but suffice to say it’ll take me quite a long time to get there as I’m not flying at the moment. I am currently surfing the internet to buy a camel. Cheap to run, walks for miles and I think you can drink their milk which means I can brew up a cup of tea en route.