So, the day has arrived: My other half has buggered off to work in France for the winter skiing season. Hurrah! you might think. A tidy bedroom, half the washing, and one less person coming home with rustling, chocolate-filled pockets to tempt my addiction. Yes, all these things are great, but I feel a bit limbless without him (don’t tell him that…). Nevertheless, here we all are in a suddenly very quiet house. And a broken van.
I say broken, but (thankfully) I don’t really mean it. His penultimate night at home before France was all planned out with a visit to our favourite snazzy restaurant (they have a theatre kitchen you know…). Of course, some chap once waffled on about how plans are meant to be broken and apparently there’s a bit of truth in that; half way home, and he and the van are stranded in some greasy, fume-filled service station with a severe-looking puncture, all in good time to miss our reservation.
Now I’m left with a limping motorhome sat on my mother’s drive. These sorts of things are usually sorted without any intervention from me. But now there’s no one around to sort them, I’ve suddenly got to remember that face you pull to make it look like you know what you’re talking about when around mechanics.
My point here is that there’s always something. Always some excuse to be cross, or miserable, or harbour some other destructive emotion: my van isn’t functional; my best friend is hundreds of miles away; my mother is driving me insane; we’ve run out of milk. But, let’s embrace these crazy things that happen to us. Sometimes, even though they’re not quite the things we’d write into the movie, they might end up getting you the best table in the house.