I am having my happy ever after.
It is the happiest ever after I can imagine, despite being probably undeserved.
It is ten o’ clock, and we are in the beautiful Midland Hotel in Manchester. This is the loveliest hotel in the world ever and my spiritual home. When I die I shall come back to haunt it and spend a tranquil eternity drifting along its thickly-carpeted corridors, sighing happily to myself.
The connecting room that we booked for the children is not connecting at all. It is on the other side of the corridor.
I have got no inclination whatsoever to complain about this, especially since I don’t think the children have worked out which is our room yet. We might even leave an extra-grateful tip.
I am enjoying the silence. There is not a dog or a young person anywhere in my vicinity. This is a joyous and unexpected luxury. There is just me, and Mark. It is like being real grown-ups.
We have had a brilliant day. We rushed round this morning getting last minute things done. Mark’s friend came to collect the dogs, and after that everything went remarkably smoothly. I posted my Christmas cards and then to my complete joy I had nothing at all left to do, and we were on holiday.
There is no feeling in the world quite like that one. Every last drop of guilt was squeezed away, and I was suddenly carefree, as light as lacy knickers on a sunny washing line.
We passed the lodger and her Irish friend on the motorway, and wound down the windows to bellow over-excited greetings at one another, and I thought that was so happy it hurt, how can anything possibly be better than to be with friends and at the beginning of a holiday.
And then we were here. Mark pulled in on to the pavement in front of the hotel, we opened the boot and everything after that was somebody else’s problem. A kind man took the luggage up to our room whilst we checked in, and somebody else took the car away. I don’t know what they did with it, and don’t care. We are in a city and we can walk. The only taxis I want to see for the next few days are the sort with some other grumpy scowling person behind the wheel, and an extortionate price on the meter.
The hotel has had a refurbishment since last year. It has been painted in elegant shades of blue and the old sofas have been replaced by newly sophisticated chairs, probably before Theresa May came here to nurse her sore throat for the Conservative Party Conference. I am trying to be pleased about it, because it is truly beautiful, but it is a little bit sad to see the past being quietly brushed away.
The old sofas were not really very comfortable anyway.
We found the lodger and her Irish friend in the lounge, which is a sort of middle-class bar where the water jugs have cucumber in as well as lemon, and jolly good it is too.
We did drink the water, but obviously we had wine as well. Just saying.
After that we went to the Christmas markets. This was perfect because it was beginning to go dark, and everywhere was lit in the magical Hans Christian Andersen sort of way that makes you think of wolves and baskets full of hot crusty bread.
We weren’t going to buy anything, but when it turned out that the lady on the stall selling fruity Lake District vodka not only recognised us but inexplicably knew our names, we bought a bottle of the caramel flavoured sort just to be polite, and to make sure she didn’t remember anything else about us.
We hardly saw any Christmas markets at all today, that will be tomorrow. We drank coffee with brandy and whipped cream, and gorgeous hot cherry flavoured mulled wine, and wandered about admiring pretty things that we don’t need at all. I think I might buy some of the strawberry prosecco cheese tomorrow, it was excellent.
After that Number One Daughter and her family had arrived, and we went for dinner, to a nice buffet serving Greek and Turkish food, which I like immensely. The problem with this sort of dining is that it is very hard to manage to squeeze in as many things as I would like to eat, because there is such a marvellous choice of everything that I like.
I ate spiced rice with chickpeas and lamb and olives, and then I ate salad with more chickpeas and some rice with saffron and some more lamb, and woodsmoke- flavoured chicken and some sort of meatball. I could have gone on eating for hours, except for not being able to fit it all underneath the waistband of my trousers.
The lodger and I have decided that it would be all right if we both went up by a dress size whilst we are here. This will be less dreadful for her than for me, because she is only a size eight, and if I go to the wrong sort of shop then occasionally I am a sixteen. Mostly I am not, and so I avoid those sorts of places, in order to stay at an acceptable size.
We talked and laughed and drank, and Ritalin Boy wanted to come and sleep in our bed with us. I would not have minded this, but thought that he would probably get terribly hot and uncomfortable, so he had to go back to his own bed, and I helped with his bath and gave him a bedtime cuddle by way of exchange, shown above.
We are here. There is nothing happier.
We don’t have to go home until Thursday.
Life is blissful.
