There’s a large pot plant on the front windowsill of my rundown little cottage. Now, I’m not mature enough to have a plant of my own. I’ve never even had a pet. I had a tamagotchi, back when that was a thing (it was when I was nine, or possibly eleven, or maybe fifteen). It was called Fred, and it died. So it should be clear that I didn’t put this plant on my windowsill. I have no idea where it came from. One day in September, I arrived home and there was this enormous plant. It might be from a secret admirer, or it might be from a neighbour who caught sight of my hairy belly through the window one day and decided that a nice big plant would filter that view out.
It’s been snowing for five days now. It never snows for five days in Ireland. My first memory of snow that actually stuck to the ground was in Glasgow in the winter of 2000/01. The enormous mystery pot plant appears to have died, but given that I don’t know where or, more importantly, whom it came from it’s still sitting on the windowsill, brown and snow-sodden. I’m afraid to throw it out. Just in case. Because I’m some kind of giant baby.
Lack of maturity has been something of a theme of late. I chaired a meeting at work last Friday. In spite of my many incompetences, described more than once in these pages, I am actually quite good at my job (and I only say “quite good” because I am modest – I mean “very good”) and I have been doing the odd managerial thing recently as a result.
The meeting I chaired was quite heated, with words like “responsibility”, “rights”, “contracts” and “pay” flying around. I was theoretically in charge of this. One thing, and one thing only, was going through my head at the time “I’M ONLY TWENTY-NINE. I’M NOT OLD ENOUGH FOR THIS.” This was quite stressful and led in part to my little weekend binge.
I can take this immature (“I’m only 29”) attitude into many parts of my life. I stayed up till almost five last night, watching the latest episode of “Glee”, and working my way through the wonderful “Hellcats” – a cheerleader-based drama. It’s now 11:30 and I’ve done one hour of study. I’ve probably eaten ok, but I haven’t counted any calories or recorded any of it.
So it’s grown-up time. I’ll be thirty soon. I’m thinking of an extravaganza of some sort to celebrate my passage into my greatest decade yet. Let me know if you have any ideas.