Having enjoyed a pleasant lunch in an uncrowded Côte Bistro on Paradise Street, that is what I plumped for. On the day, however, the venue was crammed to the rafters.
I'm getting good use out of my Senior Rail Card this year.
But first there was a meal. Last year, I organised a 60th birthday meal for my sister, Linda, which, by all accounts, ticked most boxes for everyone invited. This year, since I am four years' older than Linda, it is my 65th birthday and guess who organised my birthday meal? Well, it wasn't going to be Grace or Ross. And I'm the only other one who is local.
Like my mother, I both do and don't like being the centre of attention. I like it when I can manage it on my terms. I dislike it when I am dancing to other people's tunes. This experience, for me, fell into the latter category. Firstly, Linda's meal took place on her birthday. My birthday is in May. Two months' later was the best my family could do to mark the occasion.
Linda's meal was at The London Carriage Works in Liverpool and was a very civilised affair. When I agreed to the late July date for my meal, I'd not factored into account that it was graduation season. Every decent restaurant in the Hope Street area was completely booked out with graduation parties and, to be honest, I'm glad that we hadn't booked a table early and ended up surrounded by gladsome celebrations. However, that meant that I had to find somewhere else for us all to eat.
Having enjoyed a pleasant lunch in an uncrowded Côte Bistro on Paradise Street, that is what I plumped for. On the day, however, the venue was crammed to the rafters.
Meantime, mum had got into a bate with me because I'd invited Ross's parents but declined to invite my cousin Joe. This was no slight on him: it was because I didn't want to cope with more than seven other people round the table.
She tried wheedling: my hackles rose. In the event, the full tables more than did for me.
Mum then did passive/aggressive by purposely not sitting in the centre of the group so that she couldn't catch most of the conversations. I would imagine that she probably also positioned herself so that her sole hearing aid was facing outwards. I was glad when it was over and I could go home and cry.
Linda took mum back to Epsom with her and Ross's parents took him over to Barton. I chilled.
The following day I had an appointment at the STI clinic at the Royal Liverpool. I was receiving results from an earlier appointment prompted by an announcement from Danny that he'd tested positive for chlamydia. It turned out that I didn't have chlamydia but I did test positive for gonorrhoea from the throat but not the anal swab. Which came as a surprise as I'm not a big sword swallower. Anyhow, I came away with a numbed right buttock after an antibiotic injection.
Then I did another there and back in a day to the metrops in order to catch a Royal Opera Saturday matinée. I'm really appreciating the freedom that my gathering sum of sustained income is giving me. Very much like being let off a leash.
To flesh the day out, I took in the Royal Academy exhibition of works by Felix Vallotton. His work is a part of that great surge of creativity in Paris, Brussels and Vienna in the two decades that surround the turning of the nineteenth into the twentieth centuries.
Though the total oeuvre covers a wide range of subject matter, I was most drawn to exteriors/interiors containing one or two adults caught in the moment of a narrative - a girl chasing a ball across a landscape whilst two figures in the far distance engage in a tryst, a man visiting a woman, a woman looking for something in a linen closet. I kept wondering if Hitchcock knew of this body of work.
Less than six hours after my alarm went off, I took my seat at Covent Garden.
It had been over a decade since I attended one of the first run performances of this production of La fille du régiment at Covent Garden. Then, it was a star vehicle for Juan Diego Flórez and Natalie Dessay.
Here, Javier Camarena gave a good performance while Sabine Devieilhe really was the real thing. Brava.
Miranda Richardson was fabulous as Crankentorp. Evelino Pidò conducted wisely and well.
It was simply a lovely entertainment and absolutely none the worse for that. Word had obviously reached Paris because the place was full of senior French biddies. It was like a charabanc load of concièrges had arrived in the audience.
Following on from that, I had some more days relaxing, getting up late, had a couple of pints in the Edinburgh with Roland and just kicked back.
Then, I went down to pick mum up from Euston and accompany her home. So that was sort of down and back in a day with hardly a pause.
I had a lovely trip down. Lovely breakfast of coffee with scrambled eggs and salmon. Read. Listened to music. Drank. Looked out the window. Two and a half hours passed very quickly.
Arrived at Euston and Linda and mum were waiting for me at the ticket barrier. We did the formal handover. Linda asked how we were going to pass the next hour and a half (I'd not booked the first train back in case Linda and mum had been delayed) and I said that we would go and have a cup of tea in the First Class Lounge. Mum got very fussed about First Class until we got sat down and she looked around. It wasn't crowded and it was clean.
I asked if she'd like a cup of tea and she said yes. So, I got that and a small piece of chocolate brownie for her. She tried to give me some money. So, I told her no, it was included in the price of the ticket. I got a look. Would she like a newspaper to read on the train. I got a look. It's included in the price of the ticket. I saw the dawning light of recognition. I said the toilets are very nice too if you want to freshen up and she was off like a gazelle - although admittedly a gazelle with a walking frame.
We got sat down on the train in good time. One of those two seaters in First Class. She liked the idea of not being hemmed in. Then the freebies started to arrive. Tea and feta cheese quiche for mum. She stowed the free banana in her bag like a card sharp palming the Queen of Spades. I managed two glasses of wine because there wasn't any sweet sherry.
The two of us did chat on as the mood allowed. We got onto memory time about mum being the youngest one who was always different and who the rest of the family never agreed with as she did things which were above her station. Gladys Evelyn, my grandma, apparently used to say to her "Who do you think you are to...?"
So, I leant forward and whispered to her "Who do you think you are to be sitting in First Class?"
There was a pause and then she cackled like a good'un. I could have got the spinning wheel out.
By the time we were getting off at Lime Street and looking for a taxi, she was enjoying First Class as though she had been born to it.
Keeping up the positive feedback with Ross can be wearying. He messaged me to say that been off on a family jaunt and had tried a ride on a Segway. I asked if it had been a big test of his balancing skills and he explained that, though the handlebars had helped him with balance, the leaning backwards and forwards had knackered his legs and feet.
And yet, whenever I suggest something for us to do, there are always reasons why we can't or I feel like I am dragging behind me a three-year-old who doesn't want to walk. It feels so unfair.
Meanwhile, Nutkin has a new game. It's called "How far back under the fatsia do I need to be before David falls over trying to pick me up". Currently, he's retreating into the shade at about the rate of 1cm per day - and snickering to himself.