Tuesday, 29 October 2013

Birthday boy

FRENZY a Daniel Jones story.

Saturday was my birthday. I'm not going to reveal my age although I still like to think I can still hack it down with the twenty year olds.

All the lunar stars must have been aligned in the correct heavenly sphere, or something similar along the same lines because every thing fell into place. It's the half term school holiday (it feels as if they have only just gone back after the summer break) and my parents asked if the children could stay around theirs on Saturday night because they wanted to take them out all day Sunday.

The wife and I got an invite to her best friend's 40th birthday party which was being held on the same day as my birthday. They have known each other since they first went to primary school, and now her friend lives in London she doesn't get to see her as often as she likes. 'You don't mind if I go to her party do you?' She asked, 'you have been invited too, but if you don't want to go I understand,' she continued.

It was sweet music to my ears. I was free to spend Saturday night with my friends.

The final piece of the heavenly jig-saw to fall into place was that my football team was playing at home as well.

I started to spread the word via text to meet in the Steam Packet public house at 5pm after the game was finished. I informed Kim the owner I would be holding a birthday bass in his place and all was set. The only draw back I could see on the horizon was if the mighty Canaries were to loose the game against the visiting team Cardiff. This would have put a dampener on the evening as a lot of my friends will have gone to the game.

Well it was a 0.0 draw in the end although quite a good game which Norwich could have easily won 3.0 if the other teams keeper hadn't played so well.

When I reached the pub it was packed with people standing outside to enjoy the last of the autumn warmth before winter hits. I was noticed and as I crossed the road a chorus of happy birthday wafted from the crowd. Everyone had turned up and it took ten minutes to free myself from all the congratulations before I could reach the bar. When I got there drinks were already waiting for me and the offers kept flooding in. I couldn't keep up with all the pints coming my one way and was soon on the Bacardi and diet cokes, a lot of them were doubles.

Kim had provided a free buffy and the atmosphere was in full swing. By 10pm the shots were being necked and people were standing on tables and chairs singing along to football songs. By midnight I was heading home in a taxi in a very merry mood.

When I slumbered between the sheets my bed was empty. By the time the dear wife came home crashing through the bedroom door, fell into bed with her cloths strewn across the floor, and her make up still on, I knew she had had a good time too.

In the morning my head was numb with the first vibrations of a thundering headache looming on the horizon. My heart was galloping like a startled Stallion, my throat was sore from all the singing the night before, and my soul cried out for liquid refreshment that would rehydrate the desert that was my body. I tried to ignore all of this, but when I felt the need to pee it was pointless trying to get back to sleep; I would need to get up.

I turned over in bed and looked at my weekend medical kit; a pint of water, a packet of paracetamol, and some Rennie indigestion tablets. I devoured all three and then turned back towards the wife. I nudged her to see if she was still alive and when she turned onto her side while grunting at me I decided to get up.

I paid a visit to the little boys room and the clock said it was 8am. Now as I normally get up between 5.30 and 6am most days I considered 8pm a good lay-in. I went down stairs and made myself a cup of tea then watched Match of The Day on BBC one. Something was swirling in my head and it wasn't the hang-over? The Sunday morning repeat of Match of The Day starts at 7am so how could it be 8 in the morning!

Then I remembered the clocks should have gone back an hour the night before and it was only seven in the morning. I knew it was pointless  trying to get back to sleep no matter how rough I felt so I decided to enjoy the piece and quite, plus the rare luxury of having the only television in our home to myself, before the children returned, and the dear wife finally got up.

All in all a very good birthday indeed.


No comments:

Post a Comment