Diary of a free woman – Monday
Monday morning I wake from a blissfully uninterrupted sleep. No texts, no drunken phone calls, no intimate pics.
If it wasn’t for the fact that I was going into town to meet two of my favourite girlfriends for lunch, the weekend would definitely be casting a cloud over my day. But I love meeting up with the girls so I go off to catch the train feeling very upbeat and looking to a boozy, gossipy lunch. On the station I buy a new book, I finished the neew Anita Shreve at the weekend, such a beautifully written story but very bleak which probably did nothing to lift the wekeend blues. I choose ‘One Morning Like a Bird’ by Andrew Miller and, once on the train am immediately immersed in the wonderfully descriptive writing and enchanting story.
For once I am almost on time, arriving in Hanover Square, minutes, not hours late. The three of us have a lot of catching up to do and spend the next two hours talking non-stop, pausing only to consume large quanties of white wine and small amounts of food to absorb the wine. The conversation covers many topics but men feature largely. It is inevitable that my conversation on that subject revolves largely round the elusive Mr N, his weekend preference for his sport instead of sex and the conclusion that some situations will never change.
After lunch I meet up with another girlfriend who is coming into town for an early evening date. We trawl the shops in Oxford Street, trying on clothes and shoes , all the time keeping up a constant stream of chatter. We finally collapse into comfortable seats on the patio of a bar and drink Long Island Iced Tea. For once we find another topic of conversation and discuss our children, how we adore them, their reaction to our internet dating, their futures. S goes to freshen up before her date and emerges looking stunning. We part company, S heading for Piccadilly and her date and me towards Liverpoool Street.
I sit on the train thinking how important it is to have close girlfriends to keep one sane and how it really isn’t necessary for sex to rear it’s head to have fun! Damn why did that word creep in, I pick up my book and close the box with a resounding bang!
By Ms Naughty
