Once upon a time two Mummy’s were desperate for a night away. A gnawing longing for 24 hours of pure, unadulterated peace. To perchance talk without being interrupted, to swear with abandon and behave like themselves ‘without a filter’ just for one night. They spent many a play-date afternoon downing jugs of Pimms and plotting how this could be possible. Obviously it must hinge on a monumental date. For the Mummy’s knew that to enlist the help required to make the night away happen; there must be a ruddy good reason.
“My Birthday?!” crowed Mummy 1. “Fuck yes!!” squawked Mummy 2. Then like Professor Higgins in ‘My Fair Lady’ quite in unison they exclaimed “By jove I think we’ve got it!!”. Okay that was a lie; either way it was still a good idea…
So began a couple of weeks of tossing ideas around; perusing Travel Zoo, Group-on and Wowcher for bargains like the ‘scratty birds’ we are whilst rejoicing in our joint need to budget. Or as I envisaged it; like fiscal-savvy women seeking value-for-money in a world where lavish expenditure is somehow vulgar and unnecessary. It was deemed most appropriate for us to visit a spa thus ensuring a luxuriant leisure time whilst also worshipping at our feminine temple and affording it’s battered form a little regeneration. So it came that we chose a deal then began lengthy negotiations with the ‘out of office’ carers who would continue the Mummy’s supreme level of child safeguarding in their absence. What became horribly obvious was the lack of spontaneity for the Mummy’s, no privacy or last minute, exciting schemes to escape instead promises of settlement later, excessive gratitude and metaphorical ‘foot kissing’. In short the Mummy’s quickly realised that they had to prostitute themselves in someway in order to secure a little ‘R and R’. No matter they were more than happy to do absolutely anything such was their determination to migrate from the hullabaloo even if only for one night.
With six weeks to countdown before the big day the Mummy’s set excited timers on their mobile phones and communicated each and every day with the counting down of weeks, days, hours and minutes; like prisoners on death row but with a more positive ending. As the date got closer, the Mummy’s started to feel a little anxious; would any of their little lovelies become ill, i.e. bloody ruining the one thing Mummy wants above anything else or would the ‘out of office’ carer be the one to fuck up their life?? This angst and fear grew steadily until with only a few days to go one of the Mummy’s children took it upon themselves to allow their immune system to be lazy and became all ‘ill’ and stuff. The Mummy’s who by this time had packed their respective cases and purchased new pyjamas were now taking up a mobile phone vigil providing hourly news of the attention-seeking child in question until a below 37 degrees all clear was evident.
It was the night before and all was well; the Mummy’s were setting their alarms and painting their toenails in readiness for an early night. Mentally preparing themselves for the inevitable stripping off of the Mummy shackles and the arrival of their latent ‘party girl’ who they seriously hoped was ready to indulge big style. Late the night before Mummy 2’s small fry became all needy (okay, unwell), frantic messages were exchanged, fingers crossed and prayers sent to the higher forces seeking compassion and benevolence. By morning there was a highly unnecessary ‘blue lips’ moment which culminated in a trip to the Dr’s; Mummy 2 quickly realised this was small fry’s thinly veiled attempt to stop her highly revered night away. But no matter luckily Mummy 2’s own Mummy who is a ‘Super Mummy’ which perfectly sums up this noble and self-sacrificing model of Motherly perfection stepped into the breach to ensure superior maintenance of small fry would occur in her absence. She was free once more!
Mummy 2 was finally on route to collect Mummy 1 where an initial ‘come down’ had to be played out as each Mummy freed themselves from the constraints of responsibility by jointly detailing all the shit they’d been through to escape. A latte followed and all was well with the world as their inner ‘party girl’ began spraying glitter into her hair and cracking open a bottle of ‘Lambrusco’.
The Mummy’s arrived at the hotel and spa and stared in awe at the austere surroundings; almost castle-like Mummy 2 then parked her battered and dirty Volvo between a white Range Rover and a BMW and proceeded to haul their cheap pink cases out of the boot. Dragging their pikey luggage behind them they continued towards the grand entrance looking like a couple of inmates from a mental institution on a jolly. After checking in it was onwards and upwards into their room and here the ‘oohing and aahing’ began. Like small children after dumping the cases in a ruck at the door they steeplechased over them and towards the window. Oh the vista; not only could they view the lake; a millpond of calm with the midday sun’s rays glinting on the surface of the water but also the rich golfers sporting Pringle-upon-Pringle and manhandling their hard balls like a pro.
“Yippee!” said Mummy 2 upon discovery of the mini-bar with chilled bottle of Prosecco and hand-made truffles then scrutinising the tea/coffee tray. “Yahoo!” said Mummy 1 taking plastic flutes out of her bag and cracking open the bottle of fizz she’d secreted within her chavvy case. At this point they now realised that their inner ‘party girls’ were in the mood to be utterly ill-disciplined and would have no thought whatsoever for the Mummy’s liver’s. Half an hour later and bottle 1 is gone? How did that happen they mused whilst ordering a tiny basket of ‘skins-on’ chips with tomato sauce and mayonnaise dip via room service for 14 quid. Mummy 2 then remembers the little bottle of gin that Mummy 1 bought her last year whilst on an isolated holiday where it was only the local gin that made it bearable and they decided to do a tasting; neat. The Mummy’s then moved onto the bed, cracked open the second bottle of Prosecco and began nibbling delicately at the fancy chocolates.
Upon reflection it was at this point that some sort of time-lapse occurred. A blip in the cosmos, a universal blunder where 2 hours passed in a matter of seconds. Both found themselves in an awkward embrace on the bed; chocolate squashed into their hair, two bottles of Prosecco and small bottle of gin empty.
“It’s bloody 7 o’clock?” Mummy 1 exclaimed whilst disentangling herself from Mummy 2 and feeling relieved to see that both were fully dressed and seemingly unsullied. “Shit; we only have half an hour before dinner!” Mummy 2 was at this point aware that some sort of tumour had grown during the afternoon or a really ‘hench’ mouse had taken a toffee hammer and was hitting her dehydrated brain with it. With that Mummy 2’s slack bladder persuaded her to run to the bathroom and it was here she discovered that Mummy 1 had blocked either the Jack or Jill sink with her drunken vomit. “You’ve been sick love” she shouted through. “No love it’s you who’s been sick why?” “No matter” Mummy 2 replied mock-cheerily whilst using the end of her toothbrush to try and clear the blockage. It was at this point she was forced to digest the harsh realisation that Mummy 1 would now know more about her than she would normally divulge; her drunken loose tongue being legendary. “And you were crying” Mummy 2 compounded Mummy 1’s worst fears in 4 words giving her no option but to ‘style it out’ and laugh raucously instead of descending into tears once more.
In 20 minutes both Mummy’s were bathed, dressed and ready to hit the restaurant! Yes both were emotionally drained and in essence would rather have gone to bed and secured a decent night’s sleep but this was their ‘Big Night Away’ and that was not on the agenda. At this point they sashayed down to the restaurant; noting the admiring glances from a group of pro-golfers (though in truth at this close-range they were more like a paunchy and red-faced ‘Saga’ bunch in Jimmy Tarbuck’s cast-offs.) The Mummy’s were then shown to their tables and begged the waitress for a large jug of water. Mummy 2 has recognised the symptoms of severe dehydration but Mummy 1 is a little hardier and to possibly both of their surprise then ordered a large glass of ‘Cab-Sauv’. Mummy 1 is very impressed as in truth she is already battling with a rising bile that only carbohydrates might resolve and she’s pretty sure ‘Cab Sauv’ is alcoholic. Luckily a basket of warm rolls had arrived with lashings of proper butter leaving the Mummy’s to launch themselves at it like a pack of hyenas on the carcass of springbok. Despite all of their earlier boozing, the Mummy’s appetite’s for the gourmet delights on offer was untarnished. So with eyes wide, cheeks flushed and just the right amount of excess dribble they order and then laugh heartily at their ‘time lapse’ episode earlier and agree they’d both had a mini-mental breakdown and it was hardly fucking surprising. Truth be known it was Mummy 2 who set the whole thing off with her spewing and crying and Mummy 1 was just being kind. ‘No matter! After ‘hoovering’ up every crumb that was set down at their table and a coffee to finish; Miss ‘Cab Sauv’ asked for an ‘Irish’ which Mummy 2 raised her eyebrow at and they both agreed had ‘hangover’ written all over it was time to go. Yes it was only 10:30pm but frankly both Mummy’s were satiated in nearly every respect and certainly couldn’t be arsed to gate-crash the golfing dinner in order to seal that particular deal. Therefore it was back up to the room for a nice cup of tea and a film!
It was at this point that they entered the harshly-lit lift back to the room. “Fuck-a-duck; look at my hair?!” cried Mummy 2 whilst staring in horror at her hairstyle of two halves; one side sleek and the other pushed up high above her ear and coated in a very suspect substance.“Oh shit!” was Mummy 1’s response as her face registered both genuine surprise and a touch of revulsion.
Mummy 2 was also sporting the ‘panda eye’s’ of an emotionally fragile woman and a smear of what they both agreed was probably chocolate between her cleavage, either way Mummy 2 had to admit it was not her finest hour But balls to it; they were away, free to do whatever the hell they liked so with broad smiles and in no time at all both were fresh-faced and admiring each other’s new Sainsbury’s sale PJ’s in bed and sipping tea. At this point the biggest decision of the day was ‘action’ or ‘romance’ which they both quickly surmised neither of them were getting at this point in their lives so instead they plumped for comedy which seemed infinitely more appropriate!
A further time-lapse ‘thingymajig’ then occurred and the next thing both Mummy’s knew it was morning! But not just any morning for it was Mummy 1’s birthday morning; 34 again, every bloody year for the last 11! So there were ‘Hooray’s!’ and celebratory salutations all round as Mummy 2 presented the teensy-bit younger Mummy 1 with a cake; candles and everything then sang the special song in her best ‘piss-take’ singing voice much to Mummy 1’s delight! Showers were had, water sipped in the vain attempt to cleanse their tattered livers and dressed in day attire the Mummy’s then ventured down to breakfast; Mummy 2 particularly pleased she’d managed to finally make ‘Jack’ as clean as ‘Jill’ and thus putting the embarrassing crying incident behind her as there was no evidence of it ever happening. Mummy 2 was bang up for several ‘banger’s, and a heaped plateful of fried, salty goodness however Mummy 1 was looking a little green around the gills and desperately regretting that ill-fated ‘Cab Sauv’ and jaunty Irish coffee the night before! Not to be perturbed Mummy 2 chowed down for them both whilst Mummy 1 sat rigidly sipping fruit juice and swallowing down waves of nausea that threatened to engulf her if she caught sight of Mummy 1’s tongue lapping at a runny egg yolk.
Back at the room you might imagine that both Mummy’s would finally be thinking about using the world-famous spa facilities at the hotel; the ice room? Aromatic plunge pool? Rainforest sauna with real Macaw soundtrack? Well you’d be wrong. For both Mummy’s were now utterly exhausted from a night spent examining in minute detail their lives to-date whilst drowning themselves in fizz and neat gin. Conjecturing how the dreams of yester-year appeared to have vanished leaving only a trail of ‘Calpol’ and ‘Sudacrem’ where they’d imagined Champagne and La Prairie; skin caviar cream would be. So it was decreed that they were now far too frail for the spa and that a kip and pre-checkout cuppa would make much better use of their freedom. So it came to pass with their carefully unpacked stuff now roughly shoved back into their cases along with anything they could legitimately steal they made their way back to the Volvo utterly safe in the knowledge that it would still be there, unfortunately.
They drove home in silence, both deep in thought; a.k.a too tired to talk and having exhausted every possible topic during their 24 hours of freedom there was nothing much left to say. Obviously they were looking forward to seeing their little loves; but would they have sold a nipple each for an extra night, hell yes! The Mummy’s who despite only travelling 30 miles to their haven from home for the night had in fact travelled a gazillion light-years through each other’s soul journey. That and they felt closer than ever as they’d seen each other under a harsh light; ‘jubblies’ were viewed, cellulite glanced at and with it their kindred spirits cemented in the unbreakable bond of sisterhood.
Here’s to the next one Mummy 1!