An average in-kitchen Saturday afternoon.

"It's not a question, it's a life!"
"And that is 45thousand. And _that_ is 45thousand. And THAT is please. If I throw myself off the chair, you know why.!
"It's shocking, I might cry. I'M NOT CRYING."
"I keep spilling my teeea!"
"Mum, it's going to be reeeally weird without chocolate bits in. I'm confused."
"Well that's because your stairs are slanted. How many years have I been telling you to unslant those stairs?! And NOTHING HAPPENS."
"Well, you need to keep trying."
"YOU'RE very trying. Heh heh."
"I just got chocolate in my tea!"
"We need like the Dyson hand dryers that go *kkkkrrrrcccchhhhh*"
"Try not to use the different, um, the thing... You have to leave it otherwise it goes, um nono, you have to go..."
"WHAT'S GOING ON?!"
"What do you mean you're not hot enough yet?"
"Well I'm only a centigrade not hot enough, but you know, the thought's there."

Pre-Birthday-Surprise-Party-Special.

I have the most beautiful friends.
So my birthday is coming up. Kinda an important one, actually. Milestone being marked, and all that. And yet, after the five-month planning, and four-day party and celebration of last year’s birthday, I sadly had precious little planning energy this year. A get together with all my girls was in order, yes! But half of us have started new jobs. A couple were on holiday, or staying in their Uni places. Complications, complications, complications. My sister and two of my girlfriends kept saying, “What are you going to do? What are you going to plan?” And I found myself saying, “Ohhh, I don’t know. Maybe someone else could plan it this year, I just can’t be bothered to get my head round people’s dates and all that,” with a sadly childish pout on my face. Did I think anyone else would step up to the mark and start making the plans? Course not! It’s a momentous task! If I had not the willpower to work at it, how could I expect someone else to?
July 16th, the earache started. Ow. The amount of messages and commands to get better very soon were gratifying. July 18th, my first ever doctors appointment, my first ear infection, and my very first antibiotics prescription. The hurrahs for drugs and getting-well-ness were pleasing. July 20th, I’m feeling slightly better, and no longer like my head’s going to implode with pain whenever I sit up, and the cheering on of my recovery continued. I felt so loved…
July 21st. A bad day for me. I was tired, grouchy, emotional. Still in some pain. My sister tided my room for me while I was in the shower. My mum kept telling me to just go back to bed to rest instead of moping round the house, pretending I could be helpful with something. The doorbell rings, and mum yells at me to answer it, and I trudge to the door. And there on the doorstep are my sister and three of my girlfriends, dressed to the nines, smiles on their faces and a big bunch of red roses held out in front of them.
Apparently, this had taken a month to plan. To get all my girls together in one place. My illness had meant that the dinner out that was also planned had to be postponed, but we went to my friend’s house where the other girls were waiting, had a picnic in the park on cushions, and spent the rest of the evening and night half-asleep in front of a good many films. A birthday celebration tailored to the unwell. It was beautiful. A pre-birthday surprise party that was full of special <3

Just past tipsy.

It smells of spilt alcohol. Muggy and cloying, the stench is sticking to my clothes and staining my fingers. In a detached vanity I walk through the mess of people. My hands catch at their clothing as I pass; the ones I don't know I avoid touching, knowing, seeing. Shy away. The tiles are smooth under my feet, the soles not protected from their cold by a tights-layer of thin threads. My balance is always the first to go, and I stumble as I walk. One step, two step, concentrate. Pride keeps me upheld.
The noise and loud and shouts of the people who's volume goes up the more they drink are thudding against my temples. I hear the smack of a glass on wood. The laughter at a bawdy joke. The gurgle of liquid being poured into a mug. Suddenly the mug is in my hand, and the drink is sharp on my tongue, and the heat of my friend's fingers is tight against my palm. To one side we hold our own conferences and our own meetings and our own parties; our corner of familiarity in the fog of strange people. A card game starts in the middle of the floor. I sink to join it in a flurry of velvet skirts. The cards are sticky with drying drink. It's hard to concentrate in the noise. A jug of bitter-sweet liquid is being passed from grasp to grasp. My hands shake as I put down the mug. I'm not even half-drunk yet. But I think that's enough.

The Mad Hatter's Tea Party!

The Caterpillar came with bubbles instead of a pipe, and spent the afternoon drinking red nectar from a teacup. The White Rabbit was at one point spotted up a tree, and ended up marrying the Queen of Hearts. The Dormouse didn't fall asleep once, and was the children's favourite during our stroll through town to our Tea Party area. The Queen of Hearts left felt hearts almost everywhere she went, and beheaded everyone at least twice. The March Hare was shockingly late, and transformed before our eyes from normality to apparent insanity. Alice finally caught the White Rabbit, and even remembered the prizes for the Caucus Race.
The Mad Hatter danced with wild abandon across the grass, scattered invitations left and right, and was wished a Happy Birthday by three complete strangers. Silly people. Did they not know it was my Un-Birthday..?

Kudos to you, my old friend, whose idea it was to celebrate an Un-Birthday in such a way. I can still feel the cold touch of my teacup handle and the jolt of each and every *Clink!*. I can still see the colour and variety of the costumes and the laughter on every face. I can still hear the cries of "Taaaaaart!" and the terrible puns that circulated. I can still taste the strawberry jam and the pink icing on the cupcakes.

Here is an offering: Snapshot images of parts of a Mad Hatter bedecked in black and grey and blue, and covered in buttons and ribbons and lace.

Fob watch - an early Birthday present - and waistcoat.



Hat! An awkward angle, but there it is.



An old pair of black heels, especially decorated.



Finally, here she is. Dancing in bare feet on sun-dry grass, the Queen of Heart's fan in one hand.



For once in my life, I had a real excuse to go completely mad. I loved every minute of it.

"... Auntie's wooden leg, Auntie's wooden leg! Dee da, dee da, Auntie's wooden leg..."

Un-Birthday.

Four days. Four whole days! Fourteen pages in my journal are dedicated to this time. The celebration of my Un-Birthday gathered together the most important people in my life, and spun such a colourful, insanely beautiful celebration my eyes dance with the very thought.
A Mad Hatter's Tea Party. Dinner at Maxwells with my girls. Bad tv until one in the afternoon. A picnic in the park that brought together nearly everyone who was special to me. An all-nighter (!!) in which three films were watched and brownies made. A sunrise watched, cuddled on a stone in a park with cardies pulled tight round thin pjs. Coffee drank whilst sat on the kerb at 5:30am. A very early morning trip to the playground. An afternoon supporting a new piercing. Impromptu naps mid-afternoon. Fish and Chips in the garden, and poems and laughter and tears exchanged.
The best birthday (sorry, Un-Birthday) celebration with my darlings I have ever had. And yet my real birth-date awaits me, with promises of a family day still waiting.
My life is good.

Costumes.

Red, soft and silky. It hangs from a hanger on the lamp next to my bed. The black roses lining the top of the bodice soak up the light, the red buttons in the centre of each glinting in bright pride. The lace is draped across the skirt; pinned at the centre, it falls from the red heart and black rosette to sweep down in loops before joining in a bow at the back. Scraps of material hang limp and unwanted from the hanger, the different shades of red clashing with each other.

My shoes are placed neatly, side by side, beneath my bed. Black lace ruffles across the toe of one, white lace is pinned in a proud rosette on the other. Draped over them is the waistcoat, black velvet soft and covered, from lapel to lapel, in coloured buttons. Small purple ones march alongside large green ones, flanked by heavy silver and gold ones with detailed patterns scratched on their surface. A gold bow perches jauntily next to a small silver key, proclaiming their difference as the entire outfit proclaims its uniqueness.

A white apron is crumpled on my desk. Edged with blue ribbon, it is unfinished. Awaiting the dress it is to to cover.

Buttons and ribbons litter my floor. They create tiny islands on the mess of brown carpet beneath. Pins stick upright, heads sparkling in the light streaming through my window. Needles trailing lengths of black and white thread are balanced on the edges of pin boxes, or speared through the sides of plastic bags to keep them safe.

Two weeks and they'll be completed. Two weeks and our costumes will be aired - showed off to the world. Two weeks...

Early Christmas.

A blue warmth settling on the gathered duvets. Reams of wrapping paper lying discarded in shadowy corners. A chocolate orange, its bright foil crumpled and torn. A book with its spine uncreased. Crumbs scattered over cushions. A half-grown plant, its leaves a deep sea-green in the faint light. A pair of jeggings folded under a pot of yellow eyeshadow. A crumpled copper scarf. A necklace in a score of paper boxes. A set of photos, their frames hanging from silver wire.
Voice drifting up the stairs. Echoes of singing lingering in the bedroom. Laughter rippling over the carpets.
An 'orange' bowl perched on a wooden head. A bottle of Oasis sat in the fridge door. A purple-wrapped chocolate bar slipped under a pile of papers. A blue bean bag hidden behind a sofa.
Bridget Jones and Kermit the Frog; Love, actually.
Four hours sleep and a glass of mulled wine. Birthday cake for breakfast and smiley potato cakes the night before. Mince pies in a paper bag and German sweets gathered in a bowl.
Chocolate coin wrappers littering the floor, glittering gold in the morning light. Mattresses folded away. Duvets and bags in lumpy piles on the living room floor. A scattering of farewells.

"We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year..."