Went the day well?

This past weekend, I have been mostly:

• Churning out loads of suppers - including a proper shepherd’s pie, a spiffing boeuf bourguignon accompanied by dauphinoise potatoes that tasted almost illegally good and a massive Sunday roast - for various house guests. While I discovered that making breakfast, despite my best efforts, is not my forte (thank goodness for Kelloggs Optivita!), Mefella did indeed confirm his status as Cocktail King.

• Being reminded that life is indeed a textured coat of many contrasting colours. In the middle of what felt like the first spring day of 2009, my wonderful friend – one half of the couple who were visiting me for the weekend – had to be taken into hospital suffering the symptoms of an existing condition that is set to seriously challenge him and all those who are lucky enough to know him over the coming months. But despite the context, the whole sorry incident was not without some gloriously camp, hilarious moments. The words “is your friend suffering a heart attack?” – uttered with great excitement by an elderly lady who apparently spends most of her free time sitting in my doctor’s surgery waiting for some drama to happen – is set to go down in personal, domestic history, not least of all because it kicked off the inspiration for yet another AD short story. AND we made some lovely new friends in the hospital. AND we still all hit the town on Saturday evening, for a curry followed by a trawl of Bath’s most insalubrious gay bars. I’m sure that such frolicking was not quite what the doctor may have ordered for my friend, but it was still a fabulous evening.

• Pondering the water-guzzling ability of the dozen red roses that are currently enjoying centre stage position on my dining room table in a chipped white china jug that was one of the last Christmas presents my grandma gave me. The roses were a completely unexpected, unbidden (I promise!) V-Day presentation from Cocktail King; it wasn’t until he gave them to me that I realised how much I hoped he would make such a gesture, proving that I’m less of a cynic and more of a cliché than I realised.

• Sleeping off hangovers, being reminded what great TV ‘Upstairs, Downstairs’ was and relishing having much longer hair than I normally allow myself. Despite Gok Kwan’s advice to the contrary for ‘ladies of a certain age’, I seem to have cultivated myself a rock star mane, with vintage Mötley Crüe styling influences. Grow old gracefully? You’ve got to be kidding.