I had a visit from an old friend last week. Back in my twenties, when I was a bit sad, a bit lost, it was suggested I should find a job for a bit that was more fun than pressure. I had worked in a cool shop when I was back in London doing my Masters Degree. So I went back there. It was the most fun I ever had at work! I survived on very little sleep. I laughed a lot with an eclectic group of people. I met a lot of celebrities who seemed to like buying expensive, American homewares, furniture and electrical items! And most nights after work, we would go to the pub, get a bit tipsy, grab a KFC, maybe go clubbing, maybe go home! And I met a very tall, extremely funny Canadian guy who fancied other guys.

You know, we did what people in their 20’s do with no responsibilities, no dependants, no thoughts about the future, we went to cool clubs in Brixton, frequented the many gay bars of London town, danced a lot and drank vodka based drinks. We were often accompanied by my best friend (flatmate, also known as the wife). We did this kind of hanging out for a couple of years and then things changed a bit. He left the shop, and got a job in another shop, (traitor!) I met someone and started to spend more time doing the social thing with him – same shit really, just with straight clubs and sex!

And then my Canadian friend woke up and realized he should probably go back to Canada and start to be a grown up. It was really fucking sad saying goodbye to him. Whilst I’m not sure I realized it then, it is blindingly obvious now that this was the end of the years of living precariously and hedonistically (not that I would say I was living a life of gay abandon, pardon the pun). I had had a blissful episode in my life of living selfishly and right in the moment. It was something I really needed to do. But I’ll save the reasons for that for another time.

So we kept in touch for a bit. And then life started to happen. I got a slightly more serious job, my boyfriend and I bought a place together, we got married, I got pregnant. And then I lost contact with my friend. It wasn’t something considered, it just kind of happened. I kept thinking, ooh, I must contact my friend and the more time that passed the harder it got. You know that embarrassing feeling, when the time is so far gone that you can’t just drop a little line? And to be honest, I just assumed that this was the end of a beautiful friendship – some great memories, but we were just too far apart to be friends anymore.

So a few more years went by, and baby number 2 appeared. Facebook had suddenly entered our lives. And one evening, a message popped into my inbox. And it was my lovely Canadian friend. Suddenly, after all these years, he was back in my life. It was so fantastic to hear from him.  Seeing his name, reading his words and hearing his voice say them in my head seemed to wake up a bit of my brain that I had assumed was withered and now obsolete! I felt excited. He had been such a big part of my life. It was good to have him and the memories back. And did I mention how funny he was? So funny that sometimes I had to stop walking and cross my legs because I was laughing so much that I thought a bit of wee might actually come out (and we are talking pre baby pelvic floor as tight as anything so he MUST have been seriously fucking funny!)

Since receiving that message, he has visited the UK every year and we have met up for a few hours to catch up and see each other’s faces. It’s great. I think I probably talk too much about children and being a suburban dweller, and then, to compensate, I try to be 20 something Mim, which let’s face it, just doesn’t work. But to be fair, he has stuck with me! Put it this way, if he contacted me and said;

‘Look Mim, it’s been great and all that, but you are one boring bitch and I just don’t have time in my life for you!’

My response would be:

‘Yeah, I don’t blame you. Thanks for letting me know. Sorry about all that time you wasted. Love you, bye!’

This visit, he came to our pad in suburban suburbia. The kids hadn’t seen him since the year before last and they were excited to see him. Well, the 5 year old was unsure. She couldn’t remember that 2 years earlier, aged 3, she had clung desperately onto his 6 ft 6 frame and had regaled us all with stories of nursery including the fascinating subject of what fruit they had at snack time!

This time, she hid at first. Ok, I’ll give her that.   She’s a bit shy of people she doesn’t know (or doesn’t remember). That’s fine. At a push, it might seem quite cute. We all sat down to eat lunch. The monster was still a no show. I have to admit, at this point I had had a couple of glasses of prosecco (mainly for dutch courage) and I had almost stopped caring whether she turned up at the table. As I may have mentioned before, the 5 year old doesn’t eat much and she had already decreed that the dish on offer at lunch was not to her liking. And at this precise moment I wanted to eat my dinner, so her absence from the table was not such a hardship! About 4 mouthfuls into the meal, I noticed a little person peeping round the corner. I ignored it. A few more mouthfuls and she had scuttled under the table. Then I started to get a bit irritated and embarrassed quite frankly, so I tried to prise her from under the table to at least sit at the table and behave like a normal person. I don’t think it worked. Well, no, it didn’t work. I ignored it in my best parenting way. I sipped my prosecco.

In an act of desperation, I started to prepare beans on toast. This seemed to help and she finally took her place at the table.

She was wearing a jumper that I had picked up the day before on the sale rail in H&M. It had gone down well – a black sweatshirt with a furry cat face and some sequins on the front. Mmmm, stylish! I knew that she would love it and I was right – she had spent a good few minutes stroking the front of her jumper and pretending to be curly the kitten!

ooh look at the nice furry cat on this jumper!

As I walked over to the dinner table with her plate of beans, I witnessed my daughter standing in front of my slightly perplexed, vaguely amused, jetlagged friend sticking her chest out and saying in a rather aggressive voice:

“feel it!”

My friend nodded politely, smiled and tried to finish what he was saying to the husband. Obviously, this was not the desired response.


This inspired a shocked look from my friend and hysterical laughter from the boy and the oldest child. I froze on the spot. It was funny but it was utterly horrific and embarrassing at the same time.

Not eliciting the correct response, once more she implored him to “FEEL IT”!

By this point we were all laughing. My friend had a little swipe of the cat on the front of the 5 year old’s jumper and this seemed to satisfy her. I was left unable to speak or function for a good minute or so. I think I was crying with laughter for many reasons, but mainly because it was so completely surreal.  The image of my daughter asking a relatively unknown man to feel her chest – yes, not something I would like to see again any time soon.

But don’t worry. I poured another glass of prosecco, pulled myself up and carried on.

Well, this certainly broke the ice.  Whilst painting her Daddy’s nails (purple), the 5 year old covered many subjects – My Little Pony (obviously), interminably long and complex stories about friends and teachers, her pooh sticker chart (the result of the 2 week constipation horror), and so much more. Inbetween her stopping for breath, we managed to do a bit of catching up, a bit of reminiscing and then off she would go again.

It was so good to see my Canadian, stylish, funny, loving friend. I am sure he will agree that we now have nothing left in common except that we shared a couple of years having loads of fun, laughing, dancing, drinking, pretending to do some work, bitching!!! I hope he has not left never to return. I hope he reflects on the 5 year old’s behaviour and is flattered by the attention she paid him. I hope he does not come to the conclusion that I am raising a brood of strange, socially inept misfits who blurt out random monosyllabic words and attack you at the dinner table. I hope the memory of what I once was and what we once had will remind him that if he sticks by me, then one day, I might be that person again!



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