A Night On The Tiles

I used to be a bit of a party animal. I remember when I was about eighteen, nineteen, and into my early twenties, I would go out on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. I feel exhausted just thinking about it. I mean, number 1. How did I afford it?, number 2. What did I wear? And number 3. Was it really that good?

It was all about socialising and trying to get a boyfriend (mostly failing in case you’re wondering). We didn’t drink much, and in fact my friend and I took it in turns to drive, so we weren’t exactly wild and out of control, but we stayed out late - never overnight - however my Mum seemed to think I was doing the Devil’s work. God only knows what she would make of the nightlife antics of today. I’ve just been looking at some Facebook pics of one of my ‘friends’ (much younger than me, but a mum) and I have to confess at feeling a little bit uneasy at what is being published for all to see. (in this case suggestive poses with a male stripper - hey ho)


Anyway, age 22, I got a bit fed up of our local town and occasional forays into Manchester, and wanted to spread my wings, so I went off to work in the South of France staying on and off for 7 or 8 years doing seasonal work, going off to a ski resort once, and once getting a permanent job which sadly didn’t last. Partying was a nightly occurrence on the campsite where I lived/worked and the drinking was more profuse than I had previously experienced so I joined in with gusto. Then I came home and went to work for a tour operator in a new town, we never went out my new girl friends and I, as there really was no where to go and one of us had a young child, so we just took it in turns to go to each other’s houses, make spag bol and drink lots of wine. I must confess to feeling very frustrated and boxed in. Then I went back to live in my home town, and started to go out a bit again, and it was quite nice, seeing all my old cronies and catching up. Then I met my husband and shortly after we married my independent going out ground to a halt and I was quite happy about it. The nightlife of my home town held little appeal, I was much happier on a Friday night snuggled on the sofa, watching TV and sharing a bottle of wine with hubby.


So, last night I went out. Into town. The mad nightlife town with a scary reputation. One of the Mums from school is leaving to go and live in Australia - not on her own, obviously, she is taking the family with her, and she had asked a big crowd of Mums from school and some of her work colleagues to go to a local Spanish restaurant for tapas and then for drinks afterwards. Tapas are nice, but they’re not a meal are they? Anyway, buoyed up by wine, we trooped across the road to an almost deserted cavernous bar. The road is barricaded off at each end at weekend making it pedestrianised, and it takes on the look of a street in Magalluf or Ibiza with young extroverts attempting to seduce you into one of the million or so bars lining either side of the street. The bar we chose used to be a cinema and has gone through various incarnations since, always bar related but under several different names, but always spookily similar inside.


One of the Mums has an amazing amount of energy and drive, and started off the dancing. Before long we were all boogying away hoping we didn’t look too off-message. I love a dance and really let myself go, I truly enjoyed myself - for a while . The bar filled up, not manically but we decided to move on to another little bar, made from some tiny house it seemed up a cobbled side street. It could probably have been very nice, but it was packed to the rafters so it was difficult to be sure. The clientele were a bit varied (I’m being kind), it seemed to be the kind of place where old guys (probably even older than me) go in the hope of pulling some much younger, attractive woman; the drunker the women get the more likely the ambition of the older guy seems to be. Everyone seemed borderline paralytic. I couldn’t wait to get home. We Mums all agreed we were very fortunate not to have to endure this week in week out - as if it were torture. Actually it would be torture if indeed you did do this every week. We were similarly universal in our appreciation for our husbands. We got taxis very easily and thankfully set off en route to our sanctuaries and to plead with our other halves never to leave us!!!
I can’t wait to get back to my snuggly sofa, Saturday night TV and a bottle of wine with the man I love.

New Year's Resolution - in October....

It's been ages since I wrote on my blog, and I feel very guilty. I have let myself down - again. I do this sort of thing constantly. I have a massive surge of enthusiasm for something, set myself totally unrealistic goals and then don't keep to them, ending in deflation and self-loathing!

Well, not quite, but I don't feel great about it. So anyway, I'm making a New Year's resolution. I will tame myself, rein myself in and curb the dreamier side of my personality - the side that gets carried away with unrealistic ideas, notions, goals, call them what you will. I will set realistic and achievable goals - little steps and not great big ideas.

I have a very chequered history in this department. I realised very early on that I wasn't quite mainstream. I look fairly mainstream, I suppose I act fairly mainstream, but I don't think mainstream, and this has proved to be a bit of a hindrance.

You see, from an early age, I knew that I didn't want to work in an office, I didn't want to be a nurse, or a teacher, or any of the more solid and sensible jobs that my contemporaries were contemplating. No, I had much bigger ideas. But, and this proved to be my undoing, I wanted to start at the very top in some very glamorous position.

I went through the gamut of dreaming of working in a whole variety of glamorous jobs - top London hotels for instance - I remember once writing to one such establishment and begging, yes, begging them to give me a job. In my naivety, I thought that desperation would inspire pity and therefore they would give me the job. Never mind about my quailification to actually do the work, humph, that would take too long to acquire.

How naive and stupid, but unfortunately this trait has dogged me throughout my life. It has led to a very varied working life and aquisition of skills (never finely honed however), but one that has stayed firmly on the ground floor, ending up with me working in a hateful office (to which I am pathalogically unsuited)and being stuck there on a part-time wage, struggling to make ends meet as always.

The enemy of the dreamer is the inability to accept the mundane and accept that mundane can lead to better things further down the line. I was always unwilling to wait and so moved on to the next thing expecting to find Utopia just around the corner.
So, my list of 'jobs' includes: - Shoe shop assistant(Saturday job)
- Bar maid
- Local Authority Housing office worker
- Cleaner (in S.France)
- Spud Stall assistant (beach bum job in S.France)
- Restaurant commis-waiter (couldn't even get job as actual waitress)(S.France)
- TV extra
- Hotel worker (Italy)
- Holiday Rep (France)
- General factotum for holiday villa company (S.France)
- Offices of large tour operator
- Tour co-ordinator for school travel company
- Interior designer
- Decorative paint effects specialist
- Antique stall holder
- Back to the local authority housing department (desperate measures)
- Market trader
- Photographer
- Credit card company employee

I also trained as a masseuse and aerobics instructor. Phew....there are probably a couple that I've missed...

Why didn't I stick at any of them? Well, a few reasons that I can come up with, although a psychologist might have other ideas.
1. I hated the work (not all cases)
2. The company went out of business
3. I wanted to be self-employed
4. I wasn't making enough money
5. Needed to earn a proper salary

And now, I find myself in the position where my part time salary is insufficient and I need an additional job, either working from home, or something that will fit in with school hours, but I have no skills to offer. At least nothing concrete. My experiences have been invaluable and would, I feel, be an asset to employers but looking at my erratic CV, who on earth would take the punt?!!