My glamorous life

I decided to start writing this whilst in London visiting my closest girlfriends. We were in the heavenly Gilbert Scott bar in the relatively new St Pancras Renaissance hotel, decadently sipping British ‘Champagne’ Nyetimber as we admired the chandeliers. We reminisced about when I lived in London (not all my friends approved of my moving to Devon and one even thought Devon was in Cornwall) and wrote a dating column among other things. We laughed about how much fun we (they) had through my disastrous dating escapades. Then I reminded them that times had changed.

Oh how times had changed. If you were looking at this snapshot of my life you would think it was quite glamorous. The venue definitely was. My friends certainly were, even I was; dressing well was important to me at all times so in my frock, heels and red lipstick I didn’t look too shabby. But this was a temporary thing (apart from my appearance); this weekend I was taking a break from my busy, permanent job as a single mum. I had left my child in the safe and doting hands of my mother, and taken myself off to catch up with friends and quite simply have fun. Something every hard working parent deserves.

And fun was in abundance. I was with my inner circle:  a TV personality, an Interior designer, two Writers (including me), an Artist, an Astrologer and an Actress. And what was interesting was that we were all single. Among my gorgeous, talented, successful friends not one man by their side was to be had. And while we didn’t dwell on this all night or even seem bothered by it to be honest, we inevitably discussed dating and what we were looking for in a man.

‘I just want a man to put the rubbish out,’ I said.

They all looked at me as if I was insane but actually it was pretty much true. I could have wanted a man to take me to gorgeous dinners, a lover to whisk me away to hotels such as the one we were in, or someone to escort me to plays or the Opera. I could have asked for a man so handsome he took my breath away or made me laugh until it hurt, but no, I just wanted someone to give me a break from putting my rubbish out. Oh it would be great if they also cooked, did the laundry, loved DIY, and did the supermarket shopping.

Because since becoming a mother, since moving to a little cottage in North Devon with my little boy, I had done all of the above. And so much more (I even have my own tool box, which at least is pink). My closest friends would vouch for the fact that I wasn’t known for my practical abilities. I used to frequent supermarkets so rarely that I actually found them exciting. I could mix a Martini, but not make a cake. My freezer used to house a bottle of Vodka and a bag of frozen sweet corn that I put on my ankle when I hurt it (after a few of Vodkas). My idea of having friends round for dinner was ordering a pizza delivery. Domestic I was not.

So whilst we laughed about my lack of ambition when it came to men (I should have at least asked for a rich man who also put the rubbish out), I was so busy in my new found domesticity, and so tired of never getting on top of my chores, that I had forgotten about those lovely things like companionship and passion. Basically I wanted a handyman rather than a boyfriend.

My day to day existence was anything but glamorous. As I said, how times had changed.

When I left the bright lights and my lovely friends I was a little bit sad but more excited to see my little boy again. And when I arrived at my mum’s house and he gave me the biggest smile and the biggest cuddle, I realised that despite everything I had to do this was the only man and all the glamour I needed right now.