I remember a time not so long ago when the twists and turns in my life were something that I shrugged off in happy pursuit of the next big thing.
Fear and questioning rarely came into the thought process. In my twenties and thirties, whether it was new and challenging jobs or new and exotic holiday destinations, the unknown was good.
Should I take that new job I can’t do and probably don’t want? Definitely. 10 day, grueling hiking holiday in the Pyrenees sharing a bunkhouse with 15 random Germans? Sign me up. Eight day non-stop clubbing session in Ibiza? Rave on.
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| Kilimanjaro - make sure you tick the C.B.A. insurance box |
But now that this housewife is gliding gracefully into his forties, things are not quite as simple. Sitting behind a desk for 20 years made me money but also made me numb to the financial industry. The walking holiday in the Pyrenees left me with a knee injury for which I still receive treatment and a good amount of unwarranted ridicule. Trips to Ibiza left me sobbing inexplicably on the plane home after having a bit too much of a good time.
To be clear, I regret none of it. But I think that’s when it all started, I suppose, looking back. Once I felt I had achieved some of these great adventures, the C.B.A seizures really started kicking in. Progressively, they have become worse and now my friends have started remarking upon the acuteness of my condition.
I begin to feel the effects of an attack coming on a couple of days before the commitment itself. Questions start popping into my head. How far away is this place? Notting Hill? Notting FUCKING Hill? Are you joking? Will we have to stay long? Look at the weather. What's the toilet situation like in that club? I hope there are no queues. Can we sit down in there or will it be all hip an' happenin'? I start convulsing at the thought of a commitment that involves two tube changes.
More disturbingly, hubby has also developed an acute C.B.A. condition but arguably a more unusual and serious strain whereby he is unaware of the condition itself and therefore completely unable to foresee an attack. I've checked on NHS Direct and as far as I can see, there is no known cure for either of us.
The commitments themselves are relentless, meanwhile, and in particular for Hubby. The Three Peaks Challenge in 24 hours? Yay! Shall we climb Kilimanjaro? Yeah, let’s do "The Kili"! Do you sail? No, but let’s do a three-day regatta anyway. What about a one week holiday in a tiny cottage 6 hours away during widespread flooding and the coldest March in fifty years? Sounds amazing, let’s go. India? Yes - not difficult or exhausting at all. Berlin? - yes, we haven't drunk enough or been to enough gay clubs.
And then, like clockwork, come the attacks. They start in my mind or hubby’s - it varies as to which. We can’t sail. We don’t know where the three peaks are. There’s a Kili planning meeting we don’t want to go to. They don't have WiFi at that hotel for the weekend. I don't know where that wedding is. I don't want to know where it is. I've got nothing to wear. I feel sick. I want a cheese straw. Then it happens. The phrase “I Can’t Be Arsed” is mentioned. The C.B.A. Attack strikes. Convulsions can occur in the form of arching of the back. We don't want to go. We don't want to do it.
So, as we prepared for our imminent holiday in the flood-ridden stone cottage 6 hours away in plummeting temperatures, I was already in the throes of a serious C.B.A. attack but was desperately trying to conceal it. Questions were cropping up right, left and center. Is Cornwall any different to last time? Is it just as far? Why are we doing this? I felt a tremor.
We got to the inevitable point of loading the car in the snow and freezing rain.
“I can't wait, Giggy’s going to love this”, I said, smiling through gritted teeth.
“Oh this is gonna be so good. Look - the cottage is like a doll’s house”, said hubby.
“Just got to pack these martini glasses”
“And the ice and the olives.”
“And the gin.”
“And the cocktail shaker. Great.”
“Let’s take that fan heater.”
“And clothes”
“And food”
“And Giggy’s stuff”
“And candles”
“And a torch …”
“Yeah …”
"Yep ..."
We pause and look at each other.
…
A whole week kicking back in the comfort of our own home, taking Giggy out for walks, going to the gym, cooking, seeing friends for lunch and getting pissed. Bliss.
