Monday, 17 September 2012

My mum gets some action

(Hey Macarena!)

This weekend saw the whole family popping along to the local community centre hall for a birthday bash.

My sister, who has just flown back from a very chic European city, remarked on the contrast.

'Just the other day I was sipping vermouth from a cocktail glass in an upmarket bar...and I am.'

If you want a clearer picture think Corrie, think Benidorm or Phoenix Nights...this was the kind of scene - British 'working class' locals (I say that with inverted commas as we live in a somewhat classless society these days).

But hey - it's quirky, it's British, you gotta love it.

There was the beauteous dj set up with disco ball and neon lights sweeping the dance floor; there were the flashing fruit machines in the corner bleeping and chirping in computerised tones; the cheap non-branded gin, vodka, whiskey; the beaten toilet doors and scratched walls from years of wear and tear and little funding, the Union Jack bunting; the faded football team photos and glass cabinet trophies; the finger buffet complete with sausage rolls, scotch eggs and wotsits -it was all there. They'd even poshed it up a little with a cheese board and asparagus wrapped in Parma ham.

My dad's fiance had literally flown in from the Far East on Friday morning and we had dragged her along with us. The poor woman had never danced before and suddenly she was being twirled around the dance floor to cotton eye joe and being forced to do the conga.

I don't know what she made of it all. She certainly didn't understand that the 'Yummy Mummy' (dressed in tight black with her tits spilling out, sporting long nail extensions and blonde hair that spilled down her back) was not remotely trying it on with my dad when she just came over to say: 'Hello'. 

Yes, her manner was overly tactile, but whilst my dad's fiance only sees a creature on the prowl; the rest of us see a woman who is simply dressed to the nines because she's forty, she's churned out two kids, her partner left her for a younger model, and she's still making the most of her sex-bomb body whilst she still can.

Unfortunately my dad's fiance's deeply routed impression of Westerners is that we are all exceptionally horny, rampant things and are not to be trusted in ANY situation...

...Oh well...maybe she'll learn to understand these little cultural differences and idiosyncrasies.

I had invited an old school friend along - my first ever serious crush at twelve; though nothing ever came of it back then despite the numerous amount of times I scribbled his name in hearts on my workbook or prayed to every god under the sun to make him fall in love with me whilst listen to Mariah Carey's Music Box album lamenting on my cabin bed.

The guy's now divorced with three offspring. My family adore him because he's a charmer and he's got no shame - the perfect Recruitment Consultant. Plus they remember how cute and big hearted he was as a little boy (He was indeed cute though he's like 6 ft 3 now...).

He encouraged me to let loose with the standard cliche: 
'Dance like no one's watching and sing like no one's listening.'

Thanks for that.

He continued to ply my folks with booze and twirl each and everyone of them around the dance floor - he's a good bloke to know. My family latched onto the idea though that we should be an item (due to our long standing history no doubt and because he is basically ace) which became a little weary as the night wore on and I think gave him a false impression...

Anyway...back to this 'plying of booze' that I aforementioned. So my mum...she's drinks wine like its water (though tonight it was the cheap G&Ts). At the beginning of the night she's got a cold and she declares that she's taking it easy.

Taking it easy my arse.

By the end of the night she needed three people to support her. My mum's more of a wild child than I'll ever be. And just put on some particular 80's cheese and she's away on the dance floor with all the choreographed moves.

Early in the evening she spots a man she's chatted to before at some gathering prior. We all know she's got the hots for him so it is no surprise that she makes a beeline to chat to him. And so I try not to watch  as my mother goes into flirt mode. Lots of arm touching, tilted heads, the body language says it all and the slow dancing...oh dear...

It soon comes to light that 'Yummy Mummy' feels threatened by this...
(Why? Who knows...I think there is some history there despite him being her ex's best friend - the birthday boy. Territorial perhaps? Who knows...Whatever, it's complicated, clearly)

And so a somewhat tacit tug of war ensues. 'Oh darling, I need you to come with me...the birthday boy needs you.' drawls Yummy Mummy, pulling on his arm. Mum smiles on as Yummy Mummy leads him away but her eyes tell the real truth. Both act all light and pleasant about the situation, but no doubt they are both muttering 'Bitch' under their breath.

But my mum, instead of making a scene (her usual method when drinking), waits quietly and latches back onto him later....

Yummy Mummy dances and shakes her tight black bootie on the dance floor vying for attention.

'1-2-3-4-5 Everybody in the car so come on let's ride, to the liquor store around the corner, the boys say they want some gin and juice but I really don't wanna...' plays Mambo Number 5.

It really is like watching a badly scripted soap opera.

Then mum disappears...

Good God...

I catch the trail of her dress disappear around a corner towards the toilets. I don't want to follow but I do. I don't see anything substantial but I see enough to get the idea: an embrace.

'Mum is snogging!!!' 
I hiss in my sister's disbelieving ear (I had decided the word 'snogging' was an apt choice for the theme and style of the night at this given moment, despite the childishness vulgarity of the word) .

'Noooo way!'

'Yes way!!!'

She goes to take a sneak peak...A female family friend also gets in on the peeping tom action.

Bloody hell...

And then he walks out a little later, and she follows a few minutes later. Oh so subtle mother...

As her daughter I am so not down with the 'uncoolness of this' -parents snogging and acting love-sick is gross...but separate to that, you've got to hand it to her...

'The belle of the community hall.' 
My sister declares later as my old school crush twirls her round on the dance floor and she later comes to rest, so inebriated that she keeps knocking numerous glasses off the bar.

Yup, that's my mother... 

Seriously, I could write a book about her.

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