Compose self after dustbin debacle and succeed in not micro-managing Lily while being enthusiastic about her cantering triumph all the way to school. Levity of car journey improved by running into the local hunt. As we putter along behind the huntsman, he stops and turns to holler at a stray hound behind us in a frightfully posh accent.
‘Come on! Come on, I say!’
At the same time, his horse lifts its tail and poos. We are still laughing and saying, 'Come on, I say!' when we pull into the drive of the Manor, where I remember her music theory and enquire nonchalantly if she has done any.
I don’t scold her. In a calm, throwaway manner I suggest she do three pages today since she has her oboe lesson tomorrow and her teacher asked her to go through as much as she could and she hasn’t even opened the book yet.
‘OK, Mum,’ she says, running from the car.
Right. Thrilling job interview is at Half-an-hour to get there. Just time to wash and blowdry my fashionably orange-yellow hair.
OK, that’s done. Now, make-up. Concealer under the eyes and on raspberry-ripple veins. A dash of Tawny Whisper to emphasise cheekbones. A lick of Maybelline Great Lash mascara on my Great Loss eyelashes (another middle-aged thing they don’t tell you about). No point in eyeshadow since it gets lost in the overhang. Right. Outfit.
Oh God. Must leave by 3.30 at the latest. I’m WADING through discarded clothes on floor, YANKING out Ikea storage boxes from under the bed, RAMMING them back again. Can’t find anything suitable.
Argh. New jeans had Thai green curry stain down knee so am wearing old frayed jeans, glittery embroidered turquoise silk tunic for Asian touch and beaded fuchsia pashmina for auxiliary Asian touch. Plus black riding boots, rapidly wiped clean with floor cloth. Hopefully conjures the right blend of country casual and exotic flair.
Bloody tractor! Bloody outsize ploughs taking up the entire width of the bloody road! Bloody hell!
I pull the sun visor down and look in the mirror. I affect the expression of one who has just spotted a beloved friend. ‘I am passionate about
Asia!’ I smile. ‘I have a Passion for Asia!’ I lick my lips. ‘I have a Passion for Asian Food!’
At last! Thank God he’s turned off!
OK, I’m at The Barns. Which unit is it? Oh God. I’m rummaging frantically in my I Love Mistlebourne Market hessian bag which I forgot to decant into my vintage Indian quilt bag but, bloody typical, the address is at home. OK. There’s a board over there. A sudden gale force 10 has whipped up and it’s chucking it down but here goes! OK. Unit 15:
Asia To Go.
Where the hell is Unit 15?
Burst into the lobby for Unit 15 and stand there dripping. Compose myself. Right.
Hmmm. Apparently Mike is on the phone to a client. Janet asks me to wait in the lobby. Look into Iphone screen to discern level of dishevelment. Hmmm. Is that mascara down my cheek? Better nip to the loo.