Good news. My stomach didn’t explode. Yay!
Good news. The children haven’t exploded either. Yay!
Gooder news. The husband is home.
All is well.
He arrived at about eight o’clock last night, drank a pint of tea, ate beans on toast and put his pyjamas on. The world is a happy place again.
This morning we have been out for breakfast. We have prodded all the shiny things in town. We have had cakes. We have watched films, and mucked about. It is all very satisfactory. I hear a rumour that there will be Chinese food for dinner. It’s all going splendidly.
To add to my joy, I bought some Hunter wellies today. I have been eyeing some up for a while. Especially when I needed new wellies recently. I could not, however, justify the £80 price tag, even though you can get them in all the colours of the rainbow (you can even get silver ones, if you want to feel a bit Wonder Womanish), and they fit like a glove, which is a wonderful thing in a wellington. Today, when we were looking at trainers for Jason, I saw some hot pink Hunter wellies. They were in the children’s section. I was fondling them in a longing manner and the sales assistant bobbed by. She said: ‘They’re fabulous aren’t they? I really want a pair.’ I said: ‘Me too, but they’re too expensive in grown up sizes.’ To which she said: ‘Did you know that Hunters go up to a size five in children’s sizes, and they are half the price of grown up ones?’
I DID NOT KNOW THIS.
This revelation literally rocked my world.
I mean. Who would not want a pair of hot pink wellingtons, eh? Who?
I am a size five. Me. Yes. Me.
The Gods are smiling upon me this weekend. Really and truly they are.
I shall give my old/new blue polka dot wellies to Tilly, who was eyeing them up covetously anyway. I shall now stride about like a colossus in my splendid pink boots feeling like I own the world.
Well, all the bits that need stamping on in hot pink boots anyway. Which is probably most of it, realistically.
As I was looking at them earlier it made me think how lucky I am to live in a world where it is now normal to get things in every colour of the rainbow.
I survived a Nineteen Seventies childhood where most things were brown, green or navy blue. Except for old ladies, who were always turquoise and tartan for some reason I still cannot quite work out.
Kitchens were always white. Lounges were mostly beige and brown. Occasionally there would be a flourish of burnt umber, a bit of alarming orangeness and a colour called harvest gold which made me want to gouge my eyes out. Bathrooms were white or avocado. Sometimes you could go mad and have a beige bathroom. Everything was very Eastern bloc.
These days you can have rainbow striped mixers, lime green fridges, and everything in every colour you like – except mostly brown, which seems to have gone out of fashion. Maybe they used up all the brown in the Seventies and Eighties. I don’t know. I care not.
It is only a small thing, having a house full of colour, but to me it is a massive thing. A massive, aesthetically pleasing thing. This is why I have a baby blue mixer and toaster. This is why I have a Bollywood pink bathroom ceiling with a gold mirror. This is why I have striped rugs in acid bright colours in the man cave. This is why I have a silver, sparkly lampshade in the children’s room. This is why I now own hot pink wellies.
Rock ‘n’ Roll.