Saturday, April 16, 2005

the evening after the morning after the night before

On my forty second birthday we were living in Malvern. There’d been a bereavement in Herself’s family, and she was away in Ayrshire. On my forty third, we were living in Glasgow (that’s a long story, Don’t Get Me Started), and, incredibly, yet another relative on that side thought to play Is There A God? Last year, I was in Janzur, 10 miles west of Tripoli, horribly sober and alone. That was when I thought: my next birthday, I’ll be at home, there will be people; living ones, preferably.

So tonight we're having a wee dinner party. A boned shoulder of pork, Scottish beef, Cumberland sausage, roast veg (all cold). Salad. A lot of cheese. Different kinds of bread and crackers. Strawberries and yoghurt with coriander and honey. A great deal of wine. (I made the decision about the pork and wine that lonely last birthday in bloody Libya). It’ll be cold so that I can prepare it now and not get stressed tonight.