January 7th, 1990

January 7th, 1990

At Pamsy’s, Sussex

One of my favourite things about staying at Pamsy’s, is analyzing every aspect of the night before, whilst still in bed, drinking tea, chomping on chocolate digestives.

“My dogs are barking,” Pamsy groaned, from the comfort of her bed.

“I’m not surprised, we danced for what? Five hours straight last night?”

“Something like that.”

“But it was so worth it with all that great music.”

“And a slew of hunks everywhere we looked.”

“You can say that again and don’t you think that’s the most we’ve ever been chatted up in one night?”

Pamsy laughed. “It was worse than being at a wedding.”

“I know, right? Maybe it was the lingering scent from our eau de Boeing.”

“Or perhaps our stunning good looks and sparkling personalities,” she chuckled.

“Speak for yourself.”

“That’s enough of that negative nonsense from you, missy,” she said, wagging her finger. “There’ll be none of that this year!”

I promptly changed the subject. “This time last time year I was in Orlando.”

“Snogging Gabriel every chance you got,” she smirked.

“I wish you’d met him, he was really lovely.”

“Didn’t I show up right after he went home to California?”

“Yes, you did. We should go back to Orlando sometime, I loved it there.”

“We should,” she sighed, “but for the foreseeable future we have work to do.”

“We do?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded.

“Like what?”

“Well,” she said, swinging her legs out of bed. “I’ve been thinking that this is our decade.”

I gave her a questioning look. “You just lost me.”

“Think about it,” she said, stretching. “You’re almost twenty-three and I’ll be twenty-four in the summer. Right?”

“Eh, yes, well done clever clogs.”

She came towards me waving her hands, dismissively. “So, in the next ten years we need to do everything.”

“Like what?” I asked, shifting my legs underneath the duvet so Pamsy could sit.

“The big stuff.”

“What do you consider the big stuff?”

“You know,” she said, making herself comfortable.

“Give me a clue.”

“Get married.”

“Oh, wow. Wow, that’s really big.”

She sprung up. “Have children.”

“Shit,” I blurted. “That’s huge.”

“Now you’re getting it. The big stuff,” she said, wistfully.

“Those types of things are monumental. Or just mental,” I laughed.

She plopped on the bed again, patting the cloud of duvet surrounding me. “So, when

do you think you’ll get married?”

I cracked up laughing. “Let me just grab my crystal ball and I’ll let you know!”

“I’m being serious,” she stated, in a way that made me laugh even more.

“I have no idea.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, who do you think you’ll marry? And don’t dare say a name with a b or an e or a n.”

“Ok, I won’t.”

“So, then who? What about this Jack bloke you just met?”
“Honestly Pamsy, I don’t know. He didn’t ring so I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”

“Hmmm,” she uttered. “What about David? Aren’t you a little bit in love with him?”

I inhaled deeply then slowly blew the air out of my mouth. “I don’t think you can be a little bit in love.”

“Maybe not but you’re quite fond of him, aren’t you?”

“Without a doubt,” I said, nodding my head. “I think if he lived here we’d be all loved up by now.”

“Ok,” she said, standing up.  “That’s promising.”

“All except for the fact he lives in LA.”

“That could be easily rectified.”

“How?” I asked, looking up at her.

“You could move there.”

“Or he could move here!”

“Why would anyone move from LA to the UK?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said cockily. “Maybe if they were madly in love, the move might seem worth it.”

“No, no, no,” she said, furiously shaking her head. “I can see you living in the States.”

“Really?”

“Most definitely.”

“Well I guess time will tell but if this is, as you say, our decade, the first thing we’re going to need is more tea and biscuits.”

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s