Hairy House

Hairy House

Monday, 22 September 2014

Age, Robbie and Me.

One of the reasons I am finding this move back to the SUK to be fraught with emotion, is the fact that it has brought home to us how quickly life moves on.
Five minutes ago, Rupert and I had only been married for five years and were planning adventures in South America, working with Brazilian street kids. When I found out I was pregnant with our first child, we decided that Australia was probably a safer bet for raising young children – South America could wait for a bit.
Then came the fug of endless sleepless nights, of nappies and feeds and more pregnancies; then came rounds of soccer matches and ballet lessons and play dates and school runs. Next thing we know, we are contemplating returning to England when the kids have all finished school and realise that by that time, Rupert will be 47 and the older two will likely be thoroughly ensconced in Australian life – possibly with kids of their own! So we decided that we need to return to the SUK now, where we will doubtless replicate the endless rounds of soccer matches and ballet lessons and school runs, the “hanging out” dates but please God, no more sleepless nights, pregnancies and nappies.
South America is, I believe, still there, somewhere past the Atlantic, but when we will get to it, heaven knows, what with University fees looming...
Last night did not help to restore any feelings of youth. Last night, I attended my first ever Pop concert. I knew what to expect, of course. Pop concerts are where you go for heaving bodies, strobe lighting, Bad Language, drugs, drink and desperate police, aren't they?
Well, apparently not, not nowadays.
Apparently one drives to Pop concerts, nowadays, in one's shiny four wheel drive, with at least two kiddie's car seats in the back, before joining a decorous queue in the “beer” tent, to order one's Prosecco. When famous pop star appears on stage, he is dressed in tie and tails and goes on to tell stories of his children and his life as a dad and the cameras on either side of the stage, (presumably set up for the nearly-blind-now) focus rather too clearly on the crow's feet around his eyes and mouth. But one is enjoying the music, so one sits back, looks around at the assembled throng and realises that one is surrounded by old people. And then one realises that one is just as old as everybody else!
The one thing that made me feel as though I was at a real Pop concert last night, was the ridiculous volume of the music – though whether that was to instil excitement in the crowd, or whether it was to cater for the hard of hearing, I'm not sure.
Still, it was a good night, and, I might add, the second good night in a row for me, following our sort-of leaving party the night before, in which the consumption of much alcohol followed by much singing, though not much dancing (everybody has bad knees nowadays) had taken place. So there is life in the old bird yet! Now just have to see if I can keep my eyes open long enough to get through tonight's rehearsal...

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