Aged to Perfection

12. The Bus Stop Boys

TWELVE

The Bus Stop Boys

Monday, 1 April, 11.30pm

Got a text from Liam, the builder working on the heated marble island job.

Sorry bad news. Fitted heating under the island marble yesterday but hadn’t checked thermostat. Client came home after we’d left decided to ‘try it out’ and now his partner has burns on her back. Didn’t feel the heat while they were at it. Only afterwards. He’s threatening to sue.

Oh no! That’s terrible. Will she be OK? I’m coming over.

They’re both at the hospital. I’ll let you know when to come. Don’t call him. Said not to bother him while she’s being treated. He’s really pissed with you. Brace yourself.

I tried to ring Liam a few times, but it kept going to voicemail. I was stressed out all afternoon waiting for the call, hoping to God she’d be OK and that they wouldn’t actually sue me. Then Liam texted.

April Fool!

Not funny.

Wednesday, 3 April, 11.30pm

I’m so excited. Valentina and Kenneth liked my kitsch tropical paradise idea. Can’t wait to start working on it.

Texted Lee of the ‘women seeking women’ episode to see if she wanted to go for that drink but she hasn’t replied. Maybe London Soulmates has delivered for her and she’s all loved up.

Thursday, 4 April, 11.30pm

Damn it. It’s been three months since I started the dating challenge and I’ve only had sex twice. What’s the point of giving up love for sex if I don’t get any? Will The Guru be the third? The dating challenge was for one date every week. I’m not even doing that, let alone having sex once a week. Will have to pack them in for the rest of the year. It might not be one date a week as the challenge demands, but I could aim for fifty-two dates in total.

Saturday, 6 April, 11.30pm

I feel like I’ve overdosed on oestrogen. The wellness workshop attendees were all female and mostly single going by the questions they asked. The Guru introduced the workshop. No vow of silence today. He is so charismatic, and I could see his audience was entranced. Halfway through his talk, he asked us to look under our seats where we found a delicately wrapped chocolate heart. He was telling us how we should savour life and wanted to demonstrate it.

‘Close your eyes,’ he said, in a quiet velvety voice, ‘place the chocolate on your tongue, close your lips and hug the chocolate inside. Just allow the dark flavour to melt slowly from the heat of your mouth. Feel the rich creamy texture and allow yourself to savour the luscious taste. Let the melted chocolate enwrap your taste buds and send dopamine through your body. Let it slowly fill you with happiness and a desire for wellbeing. Now swallow the melted stickiness of it.’

His voice was as silken as the chocolate in our mouths. The room felt moist and charged with pheromones. We all wanted him. He’d played with us, turned us on, and sweet-talked us to the climax. There was a hush that sounded like a hundred women having a quiet secret orgasm.

He was good at being a Wellness Advocate, and he knew how to push people’s buttons. He told us we should do the chocolate trick once a day to boost wellbeing. At the end of the workshop, he came over and stood facing me quite close, holding my hands where they were hanging by my sides.

‘Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me,’ he said, before he was whisked away by one of his minions with a headset to meet some CEO of a partner company.

Sunday, 7 April, 9.30am

I texted The Guru last night to thank him for the workshop, and he replied saying he hoped I got something out of it. I didn’t get what I wanted, that’s for sure. I’m now wondering if the first coffee I had with The Guru was even a date. Yes, we had a connection, and I find him attractive, but he hasn’t said how he feels about me. Did he leave me his card at the bar that time because he liked me, or was he just recruiting another follower?

P.S. Feeling sexually frustrated. I think I’ll invest in The Intensifier.

Monday, 8 April, 12.30am (technically Tuesday, 9 April)

They say you don’t get any buses for ages and then two come at once, and that was the case with men at a bus stop tonight. Now officially known as My Lucky Bus Stop. The men were young – late twenties – and there were two of them. One after the other.

I was saying goodbye to Izzy at My Lucky Bus Stop in Soho after salsa at Bar Baile. A tipsy-looking man came up to us and asked for my number. I said no. Who gives out their number to a drunk at a bus stop? But he was persistent and wouldn’t go away. I was starting to think why not when Izzy suggested I should give him my number but only if he memorised it. He was repeating the number out loud as he walked away. That was Bus Stop Boy Number One.

Izzy then left me standing smiling to myself when I locked eyes with another young man who rode past on a bike. I was about to get on my bus when someone tapped me on the shoulder. He’d come back to talk to me. He asked me if he could come home with me. Cheeky. I declined but agreed to give him my number. That was Bus Stop Boy Number Two. I was obviously in one of my ‘be open to everything’ moods. Or was it the sexual frustration of the previous night?

Tuesday, 9 April, 11.30pm

I’ve had messages from the Bus Stop Boys. All day. They’re both keen to see me and shocked when I told them my age, but it didn’t seem to deter them. I suspect they just want sex. Should I go for it? I could try one first and see how I feel. I’ve had two one-night stands since starting my dating challenge (before that was the open-air sex with the tour guide outside his tent in the Australian bush last year). I could do with some no-strings-attached fun as long as they see it in the same way. I don’t want anything to do with them if they think I’m desperate or – even worse – grateful because they’re young. But I’m not getting that vibe from their texts. I think I’ll invite Number One to come round.

Wednesday, 10 April, 11.30pm

Called Grace to see if she wanted any help or to meet up, but she doesn’t. I think she just wants to get the surgery over with and not talk about it.

Thursday, 11 April, 11.30pm

Oh boy. Or should I say oh Bus Stop Boy Number One. He came round tonight. He’d obviously dressed up for the occasion, though his navy ankle-length trousers and short-sleeved check shirt were a bit too tight for my liking. I suppose he wanted to show off his muscles. But he smelt nice, and he’d brought a bottle of wine. All good so far. Clean and polite. I was pleasantly surprised that he was good-looking with a shock of blonde hair carefully teased to stand up.

We chatted, flirted and had some wine, but soon started to kiss. I was thinking, what am I doing and why am I doing this? Then I told myself to let go and enjoy it. We were consenting adults, and we could just have a night of passion. We moved quite quickly to the bedroom.

A wham, bam, thank you ma’am later, I was sitting up, with arms crossed and a disappointed expression. I thought he was one of those younger men wanting an older woman who knows what she wants. I hoped he wanted to explore and please, but no. It was all so mechanical, there was next to no foreplay, and he acted like the whole thing was only about his orgasm. He treated it like a microwave meal: no preparation and hoping for a ping of satisfaction in three minutes or less. It was like he was on a rocket going into space, forgetting there was another astronaut on board. Or he might have been following a Sex for Dummies instruction manual that said, ‘Insert tab A into slot B. That’s it. You’re done.’ His sex education was at mock-GCSE level, and I wanted someone with a PhD. There was only so much I could do to bridge the gap. I was relieved when he said he had to get up early and left soon after.

I don’t remember boyfriends being like that when I was in my twenties. I’ve heard about younger people approaching sex differently now because of all the porn they watch, but I do hope for their sakes that my experience tonight is not typical of their generation. Never mind the gender pay gap. What about the gender orgasm gap?

Friday, 12 April, 11.30pm

The Intensifier arrived and it’s veeery good! Much better than Bus Stop Boy Number One. No word from The Guru. If he can make a room full of women feel orgasmic by eating chocolate, actual sex with him must be super-orgasmic. I want some.

Checked Ladybird and London Soulmates but didn’t spot anyone I liked. Have I seen all the available men in London?

Saturday, 13 April, 3.30pm

I was reading Livingetc when Joy came down from my office holding The Intensifier. I was on my way to the bathroom to wash it this morning when the office phone rang, and I must have left it on my desk.

‘What’s this?’ she asked.

Gulp.

‘Oh, that’s for work. It smooths out creases in wallpaper. You know, if it’s been fitted badly.’

‘Ah, OK.’

‘But you should wash your hands in case there’s glue left on it. It’s not good for your skin.’

I’ll remember this moment next time she says something awful to me.

Sunday, 14 April, 6.00pm

Called Grace to wish her luck for her operation tomorrow. She sounded terrified. I told her treating breast cancer is highly successful nowadays. Of course, she’s worried about what would happen to her kids if she doesn’t come through. Oh God, I don’t even want to think about that. She’ll be in one of the best hospitals in the country and it’ll all be fine. I have a good feeling about it.

All of which makes me think I should stop being sensible and not overthink things. What’s wrong with being reckless sometimes? I want to do something to make me feel alive. I think I’ll give Bus Stop Boy Number Two a go. His texting has turned into sexting today so it’s time.

11.30pm

BSB Two was keen when I invited him over. Though it was quite spooky when he arrived an hour later, looking and behaving like BSB One. It was a case of déjàview, déjà woo and déjà do. Had they been watching the same YouTube ‘how to’ videos? Or was it the same porn site? Neither had condoms, and both said, ‘no need, I’m clean’. They might just shove it up in a porno but not in real life, thanks. Luckily, I’m responsible.

The sex was … hurried and underwhelming. I tried to spice things up, but he was in a race to the finish that left me on the sidelines. No foreplay, and no consideration for my needs. It was a fast-food drive-thru experience – quick, unsatisfying, and only one person got to eat. Afterwards, I asked him how he was getting home and, to make me feel really old, he said he’d texted his mum and asked her to pick him up.

Never let it be said I don’t try new things, but I’m done with young men. It didn’t make me feel alive, just disenchanted. For a second, I thought it was me, but I had to remind myself that I’d experienced and fully contributed to good quality sex before, and my recent experiences were lacking in that department. I don’t know. Maybe in the end they decided I was too old for them or all they wanted was an orgasm rather than a full sexual experience. Possibly my full bush anti-grooming pubic hair vibe frightened them away. If I’m honest, I didn’t put much effort into it either. Neither of them properly, truly turned me on. They were no Ooh La La Trousers. I knew my heart wasn’t in it, but I didn’t know my vagina didn’t want to go for the ride either. I was going through the motions, so to speak, so I have to take some responsibility. Whatever it was, I don’t want it again. Meaningless sex is all very well but it has to be good sex to make it worthwhile.

Monday, 15 April, 11.30pm

Visited Grace at the hospital tonight. I bumped into Ajay and the kids in the corridor as they were leaving. He said her operation had gone well and she was resting. Thank God. I tiptoed into her room and watched her sleeping. Then she stirred, winced with pain, and opened her eyes, so I held her hand and told her to go back to sleep.

When The Cute Nurse came to check her blood pressure, I asked to have a word with him, and we went into the bathroom so we wouldn’t disturb Grace. As he was telling me about her operation and prognosis, we moved closer, our eyes fixed on each other’s faces, then mouths and bodies, and before I knew it, we were devouring each other, grabbing at hair, boobs, bums, and pulling off our clothes.

‘Sophia, where are you?’ Grace croaked.

We froze, hoping she’d go back to sleep, but she called out again. We both sighed and straightened our clothes and went back into the room. She inspected us with suspicion. He had a few lipstick marks on his nurse’s tunic, which was only just long enough to cover his receding excitement. After thanking the nurse for checking her blood, Grace waited till he’d left then turned to me, her smiling mouth turning into an angry slit.

‘That’s a new fucking low, Sophia.’

‘What?’ I said, looking as innocent as I could under the circumstances.

‘Your hair. And your blouse is done up the wrong fucking way.’

I patted down the stray curls. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over…’

She raised her palm and let out a slow breath. ‘Stop. I don’t want to hear it. I’m lying here feeling shit, with half a breast missing, not knowing if I’m going to live or die and wishing I could curl up and sleep forever, and you, you … are making it all about you. Some fucking friend you are. Aargh.’

‘Grace…’

‘Just go. I’m too tired for this.’ She turned away and closed her eyes.

I’m so ashamed. Why did I do it? Was I overcome by the intimacy of the plush bathroom? Or did the whole hospital situation heighten the sense of my own mortality, and make me want to feel alive? Possibly I yearned to feel desired after the disappointing experiences with the Bus Stop Boys, wanting to prove that I’m still attractive to cute young men. Was it simply too good an opportunity to miss or dismiss? Probably a bit of all those things. I can’t explain it, but I hate myself. I’m now officially the World’s Worst Fucking Friend.

Tuesday, 16 April, 11.30pm

The Guru texted today. About time.

Hey Sophia, I’ve missed your positive energy

Hi, nice to hear from you. How’s your wellness going?

Very well thank you. I’m planning a 4-day retreat in Crete in June. Would you like to join me?

That sounds interesting. Can you send me the details?

I knew our energies would be aligned.

How exciting. A retreat in Greece sounds fabulous. He must be interested in me after all, and he’s been waiting for the right opportunity to spend quality time to connect.

P.S. Haven’t had the guts to call Grace. Need more time.

Wednesday, 17 April, 11.30pm

What the hell is happening with my friends? Went to a ‘singles party’ for thirty-eight to fifty-five-year-olds with Izzy. She has realised Francis is a knob and ditched him. Good. We were both slightly out of the age range at either end, but reckoned it would be OK. We booked the tickets about two weeks ago, but tonight I didn’t want to be there. How are you supposed to know that in two weeks’ time at that appointed hour, you’ll feel like being on show and acting flirty in a room full of other single people searching for love, sex or whatever it is they’re looking for? Sometimes these parties feel like a cattle market where people stand around displaying their assets and hoping for a buyer. You need to be in the mood to put in the hard work.

The event was in one of those huge plush bars in the City where one room had been cordoned off with red rope to make you feel like celebrities. We bought a bottle of wine and sat down for a chat, not playing the self-promotion game. A few brave guys tried to interject, and we made polite conversation but didn’t encourage them, so they moved on.

‘What’s the point of coming and not talking to anyone?’ Izzy asked.

‘You have to be in the zone for these things and I’m not feeling it tonight. Sorry. Do you mind?’ I asked. I felt guilty and relieved when she said it was OK and we could enjoy a girly night instead.

‘Oh my God. Is that Jude?’ I said, looking at the guy in the corner whispering into a woman’s ear. ‘Yes, it’s him. What the hell is he doing here?’ Jude must have felt my eyes burning through him and looked over to me. There was a tiny hint of annoyance on his face, which was quickly hidden with a smile as he strolled towards us.

‘Hello, hello, what are you doing in this part of the world?’ he asked, all casual.

‘We’re here for the singles party. What about you?’

‘I was having a drink with a friend in the other bar and on the way back from the Gents, I spotted a colleague and came to talk to her. What do you mean singles party?’ he asked, looking around.

‘This room. This is a singles party. You know, where single people come to meet?’

‘Really? I didn’t know. I just wandered in. Someone might have picked me up.’ He laughed.

I listened to his explanation sceptically and wondered if I should give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, it was the end of the evening and the red rope had been removed. It was feasible he could have come in to see his friend.

‘Manners, Sophia. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?’ he asked.

I introduced Izzy but when I turned to her, the colour had drained from her face, and she barely whispered hello.

‘Let’s take a picture to send to Leila,’ I suggested and took out my phone. As we looked into the lens for a selfie, I locked eyes with him. My expression must have said, ‘I’m onto you’. There was a flash of rage on his face before he caught himself and grinned for the camera.

‘I’d better say goodbye to my colleague,’ he said. We watched him strut over, whisper something to the woman, and go to the other bar.

‘What’s the matter, Izzy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ I said.

‘I sort of have. That was Mark, the guy I told you about, that I had a one-night stand with back in January, but he obviously doesn’t remember ghosting me. Is he a friend? And why did you call him Jude?’ Her eyes were tight, and her face flushed by then.

‘I called him Jude because that’s his name. He’s my friend Leila’s husband. Are you sure it was him?’

‘Absolutely. I had no idea he wasn’t single, let alone being married to your friend. We live in a city of millions, and I manage to pick him.’

‘Oh, he can be a charming little shit. They’ve only been married about eighteen months. She thinks she’s in a fairytale romance and doesn’t know she’s living a lie with a devious, philandering husband. I can’t believe he’s so heartless and selfish to do this to Leila. Actually, I can believe it. I’ve never trusted Jude. What a complete and utter bastard, going round picking up random women for sex.’ Rant over, I turned to Izzy who looked stricken. ‘Oh no Izzy, I’m so sorry. I’m not blaming you. It wasn’t your fault. I’m just furious with Jude.’ I gave her an apologetic hug while I extracted my foot from my mouth. How do you feel about him now? Do you still like him?’

‘No, I think he’s a little shit too,’ she said.

‘Do you think I should tell Leila? She loves him so much. I can’t bear to see her heartbroken.’

‘I’m hardly the best person to ask, but I’d throw him under the bus if I were you. He deserves it. Would Leila want to know though? Some people don’t. They want to pretend it hasn’t happened.’

Leila’s going to be devastated if she finds out. What should I do? I’ll put the pic on Instagram and let Jude explain it to her. I don’t want to be the messenger who gets shot. Also, did he truly not remember Izzy or was he pretending? If he didn’t remember her, he must have a lot of one-night stands, but if he did, then he’s a very good actor/liar. Either way, it’s bad news. I wish I hadn’t gone to that blasted party so I wouldn’t be sitting here grappling with my conscience. And we didn’t even meet any men.

11.40pm

I’ve posted the pic, with ‘guess who I bumped into?’ tagging Leila and Jude.

P.S. Must practise my selfie angle to make my not-so-button nose look smaller.

Thursday, 18 April, 7.30am

Did I do the right thing posting that pic? I’m not at all sure, but wouldn’t it have been a matter of time before Izzy would come to some party or other with me, and meet Leila and Jude?

Leila’s comment on my post popped up. ‘Small world, isn’t it? We had a good laugh about it last night.’ Obviously, she didn’t suspect a thing and I felt uneasy replying with a few laughing emojis. She has no idea his devotion could be an act. Or possibly she does but is not acknowledging it. Relationships are so complicated. People want different things from having a partner, and their wants can often be opaque or dishonourable.

11.30pm

I’ve been on edge all day about the Jude thing. I texted Izzy to see how she was and asked her exactly when she’d had the one-night stand with him. It was 14 January and, according to my diary, that was the day he had a row with Leila and disappeared for hours.

Friday, 19 April, 11.30pm

I arranged the surprise for Mum’s birthday. I was all happy about my genius idea until I texted Sara to tell her about it, and she said she’s not coming to the party because she has to work an out-of-hours’ shift.

Are you serious? You’re going to miss Mum’s 80th?

I’m serious.

Can’t you get someone to cover?

I could but I don’t think I should. It’ll look bad.

But she’ll be upset and how will it look to her friends if you’re not there?

Don’t lecture me Sophe. You were away for nearly a year, and now you’re too busy having it off with all and sundry on your embarrassing dating challenge, so don’t pretend you’re the dutiful daughter

That’s so unfair.

That’s so unfair.

She’s so infuriating. If it wasn’t for what she’s been through, I’d go round and give her a piece of my mind. Ohm. Ohm. Ohm.

Saturday, 20 April, 1.30pm

I felt so awkward with Leila at brunch today. She’s blissfully ignorant of her husband’s exploits. Am I a terrible friend or a good friend for not telling her? She’s been so happy with Jude, and I don’t want to be the one who destroys her happiness. But surely, she must have spotted the clues. There are always clues.

No Grace today. She’s at home recovering from the operation. Fingers crossed that’s sorted her. We sent her a selfie to say we missed her. I told Leila about the nurse, and she laughed like a hyena, then told me to go visit Grace. Today. I’m not going to tell Grace about cheating Jude. She has enough to worry about.

On the bright side, Ace is in town and joined us. He’s been diversifying from classical music, and he enjoyed the jamming session in Cuba so much, he’s been rehearsing with a Latin band! I know I embarrassed him at the time, but it’s turned out great and you never know where it might take him in the future. Sophia strikes again. He invited us to their gig next week, which’ll be great, except Leila wants to bring Jude. I can’t face him.

Ace noticed I was a bit off and asked me about it after Leila went to her yoga class. I swore him to secrecy and told him about Jude.

‘I can’t believe it. Why would you get married and cheat on your wife so soon after?’ he said.

‘Because he’s an arsehole and can’t keep his dick zipped up? And we don’t know if it’s a one-off. Leila said he was openly flirting with the waitress that day.’

‘Men like him give us all a bad name.’

I raised my eyebrows and inclined my head. He didn’t react. He’s in no position to pass judgement on other cheating men. Then I felt awkward, so I told him about my Cement Man date, and he laughed heartily which I thought was a bit unnecessary. Why does he take such pleasure at my dating disaster?

11.30pm

I was too ashamed to tell Ace about the bathroom incident, but I did make myself visit Grace at home today. Ajay welcomed me in, and tried, unsuccessfully, to hide a grin.

‘Your shirt’s done up wrong,’ he said. I looked down then remembered I was wearing a T-shirt. I got flustered and splashed his hair and denim shirt as I put my dripping umbrella away.

There was the hubbub of a party upstairs, and the sweet aroma of the hot spicy food laid out on the dining table. I went up to Grace’s bedroom and hovered by the door until I was spotted by her mum Oni, who held out her arms, shuffled towards me and hugged me hard, squashing her ample breasts against me.

‘Sophia dear, what have I done to deserve this? What did her father do to be punished by God? What did my daughter do to get this nasty disease?’ she asked in her exuberant rhythmic Nigerian accent. She whispered the word ‘disease’ as though saying it quietly could make it disappear.

‘It’s not anybody’s fault, Oni. It could happen to anybody,’ I said, but she just sighed and shook her head. Grace was hugging her drain bottle, sitting up and looking surprisingly well, which was lucky as her family were in full-on ‘Nigerian auntie’ mode. There were nine aunties surrounding her bed in small groups. Some were chatting, laughing, knitting, or eating, and all of them seemingly oblivious to Grace, who was texting and ignoring the mountain of food on her tray.

‘No Sophia, God is punishing us. I don’t know why. Why?’ Oni continued.

This prompted a few of the aunties to join in. They raised their arms to the heavens, threw their heads back, and asked, ‘Why God?’

‘Why do you make this woman suffer?’ asked another auntie. The others repeated it in unison in an orchestrated performance. How did they decide who says what and in what order? It was like a Catholic wedding where the congregation knows exactly how to respond to the priest’s pronouncements while the non-believers look perplexed.

I went over to Grace, who shifted to her side to sit up, and four of the aunties jumped up with cries of ‘What is the matter? Let me help you. You must eat. Are you in pain?’

I caught Grace’s eye as I took in the theatricality of the situation and we both laughed, which made her wince with pain. Cue more fussing. She gave me a tired smile, and whispered, ‘I love them, but I wish they’d give me some peace.’ As if by magic, Ajay appeared and said Grace needed rest. The aunties grumbled but were subdued as they left the room. Grace said the doctors were pleased with her progress and she was feeling better, if a little low.

‘I’m so, so sorry Grace. I don’t know why I did it, but I know it was insensitive and selfish. I love you so much and would never want to hurt you. Will you forgive me? Please?’

She took a long look at me. ‘It was an awful thing to do but … I probably overreacted after the effect of the anaesthetic. I can see the funny side of it now, especially the bulge under his tunic. I couldn’t help looking in that area each time he came to check on me.’ We burst into laughter.

‘Seriously, what’s going on with you? You’re the most considerate person I know. It’s so unlike you to do something like that.’

I told her about the Bus Stop Boys and not being sure whether I feel like a confident cougar or a saddo being used by young men for easy sex.

‘They should be grateful you even looked at them. It’s not your fault they were incompetent and can’t appreciate a good thing when they see it.’ She hesitated and looked serious. ‘But promise me this: only do what makes you happy, not just to win the challenge.’

I promised. It was good to get her reassurance and not dwell on self-doubt. What is going on with me though? It’s only April. Am I done with seeking only sex already? Is it really what I want?

Sunday, 21 April, 11.30pm

Grace’s forgiveness and a good night’s sleep have done wonders and I’m feeling positive today. The Guru sent me the hotel details for the retreat. The place looks amazing – a mixture of Greek/Scandi minimal style, set in beautiful, lush gardens with sprays of magenta bougainvillea and to-die-for views of the Mediterranean. Familiarly wonderful. I think I’ll go. At worst, I’ll have a lovely relaxing holiday in Crete and if things work out with The Guru, it could be REALLY good fun.

Tuesday, 23 April, 11.30pm

Grace has had the dressing removed. It doesn’t look as bad as the pictures they showed her before surgery, but it was still a shock. I wanted to meet up, but she said she’s not up to it. Surely going out and having a distraction would help? I guess everyone deals with it differently. I thought Grace would be her usual uber-strong self, but she sounded down. I’ll send her some lovely gifts to cheer her up.

Wednesday, 24 April, 11.30pm

Called Mum this morning to wish her a happy eightieth birthday. She’s super excited about her party on Sunday and gave me a long list of instructions for things to bring. I’m in charge of decorating the hall she’s hired for the occasion. It’s a pretty basic community hall, so I’ll have to dig deep into my bag of interior design tricks to make it presentable. I’m hanging lots of lengths of white muslin and fairy lights to cover up the nasty bits. It’s used as a nursery during the week, though. I don’t know how I’m going to hide the ball pit and children’s toys.

Thursday, 25 April, 11.30pm

Been writing my speech for Mum’s party. I’m getting nervous about it. Why did I let Dad talk me into it? I suppose it was quid pro quo for his contribution to the party. I need to say what an amazing person she is but also be funny. What if it’s a complete flop? I don’t want a repetition of that time I started a thank you speech over drinks at the end of a build project, when the extremely drunk hen party sitting next to us heckled me so badly, I had to give up halfway through.