I Was Swallowed By A Hippo

Castle life, Aga strife, slummy mummy, average wife

Hen Shenanigans

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It’s not exploitation it’s art.

For a change I’m not referring to the feathered variety but more excitingly, the large group of women including one bride-to-be and several plastic penises, variety. The bride in question was my gorgeous sister-in-law to be and the weekend had been brilliantly organised by her fabulous four sisters at the stunningly beautiful Glenfarg house, not far from Perth.

I was almost as excited about the journey as the two nights away from the children. Four hours completely on my own with absolutely NO DISNEY music or irritating dvd noise from the back seat or petty squabbling or psychotic meltdowns. It was sheer bliss. For the first two hours but then I ran out of ‘Les Miserable’ and jelly babies and didn’t really have a clue where I was and had my own psychotic meltdown at the sat nav. “Tim” seems to have an aversion to main roads and much prefers a quiet amble down random country lanes which go on forever. I really lost the plot when he suddenly announced that my remaining journey time had gone from 25 minutes to 3 hours 40. I unplugged the smug, patronising bastard and decided to use the force instead, arriving not long after my ETA. In your FACE, Tim.

There was about 30 seconds of shy awkwardness as nobody knew everyone but this soon evaporated into a giant love-in of mutual appreciation for the fabulous bride-to-be and for the mothers amongst us, unbridled elation at the thought of two nights away from our little ones. It quickly descended into wine-fuelled hilarity culminating in penis hoopla. I failed miserably at not having a hangover so I could enjoy a lie in but with no children to bother about, it was manageable.

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“I know him sooooooooooooo well”. But not the tune or the words unfortunately.

The following day was filled with craft activities and stovies* in the sun and afternoon naps and a hilarious life-drawing session with what must have been the most high-brow use of a male stripper, ever. The evening’s main event was a talent show at which I fulfilled a life-long ambition to be Elaine Paige. With my cohort, Barbara Dickson, we belted out “I know him so well”, compensating for lack of musical talent with comedy and terrible wigs.

Once again I broke my own rules of not drinking past 11pm and retiring to bed by 1am. With my musical comrade, Barbara, we were still glugging wine at 2am and eventually staggered up to bed a 3ish. Very insensible considering my epic journey but the world needed putting to rights and we even tackled Scottish Independence. Unfortunately I have no recollection of what we concluded.

The return journey was bearable thanks to a steady supply of sugar and carbs on the seat beside me and the thought of seeing those little faces again kept me going. I got the best welcome in the world ever and two days later, I have almost recovered.

Now it’s serious countdown time to the wedding which will now be less about the happy couple and much more about a reunion of all the fabulous hen ladies. Without the plastic penises.

Can’t wait!

*best hangover cure EVER. Google it non-scots.

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