Postcard Pam's Weird Weekend

POSTCARD PAM’S WEIRD WEEKEND

This is weird. I have been looking forward to it for so long. Sitting on a train with nothing to do but write and paint my nails. Instead I have anxiety.

The thing is that I had been feeling quite good about myself; By and large; when all is said and done; relatively speaking.

 I have lost some of the weight I gained. I am back into some of the clothes that remind me of who I am. People are fond of calling me ‘bohemian’. Apparently it suits me. I have stopped fighting it for I recognise myself.

 Several lifetimes ago when I was in my New Romantic year, I would be stood-standing at a bus stop in a frilly shirt or be walking through town in knickerbockers when the ‘yoof’ of my youth would call out ‘Peace man’, giving the standard John Lennon Salute with two inoffensive fingers.

 I didn’t feel insulted; more baffled, violated even.  I’d been hiding myself so carefully.

Maybe that’s what I have done in the past 24 hours, hidden myself and it has caused me anxiety and a longing to turn the clock back 14 hours; to be the person that I was then; the one who liked herself, finally.

Instead I am sitting on a train looking as though I’d been Tangoed.  They promised me in the salon this would not happen.  But it has happened and worse, there are two white panda circles where the crumpled bags under my eyes are, so it has highlighted those to great effect. The thing is, I felt good about my ageing face yesterday. Liked it even; appreciated that it was the face of a nice woman in her 40’s, not an orange woman looking like some terrible caricature of a lush. It has aged me 10 years.

In this train, I can hear an echo of blended voices  demanding to know why, if I am so bloody perfect, did I have it done at all? Well I’ll tell you. I am not perfect, I am just accepting. I am learning to be accepting but sometimes I have setbacks, especially when there’s a £15 offer on and it is something I have never tried before (suggestions anticipated)

During a setback, it occurred to me that although my face (and neck) looked tanned and happy from  my new job as postie  - and the lower two thirds of my arms  similarly so - when I am naked, I look as though I am still wearing a white T-shirt and leggings. That, Dear Reader, is not an image to linger in the mind after 3 children and a lot of cake.

(I’ve just had a cinnamon swirl for elevenses and it’s 8.50am)

Anyway, cutting a long story short – strapless frocks and strappy tops are to be worn this weekend, if not pencil skirts with thigh high splits and all of the above ending just below the knee.

My mother has a favourite refrain when she talks of my daughter’s beauty:

“Thank goodness she doesn’t have your short tree trunk legs”

I try to love her, I really do.

The aforementioned forest favourites are currently covered in scrapes, grazes, bruises and cuts. The reasons for this are many and varied when looked at in detail, but if I paint you a picture with a wallpapering brush, it quickly reveals work-related incidents. 

A fight with a bicycle pedal

A fight with a bicycle stand

A slip on wet floor tiles in an Italian restaurant that I was delivering to (that one really hurt and I didn’t even get a free meal though I have heard that their chicken dishes are to die for)

A fight with a bicycle and a hedge

A slip on a wet manhole cover

A fall down some wet tiled steps on Nutter’s Way! I mean….Why would you? Floor tiles are for inside, and even then only if they have some ridges to protect against aquaplaning.

An incident involving a bicycle chain and a trapped shoelace (I don’t like to revisit that memory too often. It makes me tired.)

The resulting injuries brought me to the conclusion that an all over tan, would at least make the bruises less obvious.

It has, because people can’t take their eyes off my Jaffa Self.

 I am planning to stay in the shower for a very long time when I arrive up North. I may not have time to speak to my parents before I set off to my party 9 hours later because I will be scrubbing my face. I may have to wear a backless frock and a balaclava.

I think I left it on too long. They advised me over and over not to panic as the colour deepened as it would all wash off to an all over glow in the shower and furthermore, they said it may come off on the bed sheets.  I took this as an instruction to have a night’s sleep. So, I slept in the tan rather than set my alarm for 2 in the morning when it was due to come off, and I was up at 5.30 in any case.. To be fair, everywhere else is passable. Certainly I enjoy a bit of colour (however uneven) on my legs. I have also woken up with 2 (count ‘em…2!!) cold sores and there’s obviously the gum boil and chronic infection in my tooth to contend with.

Oh yes! It’ll be a triumphant return home.  .  I am such a catch for some lucky, lucky fellow of indeterminate years and hair possession.

Actually, I generally go for slightly younger men, but this shade of orange would just tip me right over into the category of stereotypical. Boycie's, 'Marleeeen!'  I’d just need a leopard print wrap dress, matching high heels , hot pink lippy and earrings as big as budgies.
If I lift up my buttocks (stop retching you lot in your 20’s, it’ll happen to you too!) there are white lines cupping them from underneath like hammocks where the tan didn’t reach, and a little 6 inch line round my waist where I presume the spare tyre folds over. Just on one side! I wonder if I’ve had a stroke and not noticed.

“Stay classy San Diego!”