January 1985 was a cold, wintry month with frequent frost, the first ever mobile phone calls were made in the UK and the fifteenth day of the month saw Foreigner reach number one with ‘I want to know what love is’. A young, presumably happy couple gave birth to their second child named Holly just a week later. Tuesday’s child is full of grace may have just been the perfect verse for this petite, quaint baby, but unfortunately this seemed untrue as soon as they got their bundle of joy home. The pair hadn’t quite prepared for the life of turmoil Little Holly would bring but the fact she would not consider sleep in her first few months unless being chauffeured around in her father’s Mini should have been a foolproof indication.
Described as a wee shite from the start there was little Holly could do to impress her tired parents. Her squeaky, high pitched tone seemed to send them into sheer despair and the misery of her whinging persona made her mother’s hair straight and her teeth curl. Her ability to manipulate her doting father and wind up her sensitive mother only caused a poor start for this wee lass. Her growing years saw love, laughter yet disarray. The years that followed saw Holly grow along with her sisters in a happy environment encouraged by the strong female influence of her mother and supergran but her feisty, go getter attitude always shone through which made her learn that little is impossible and no one would stand in her way. Furious in dreams and furious in might, only time would unfold the tale of this presumptuous female…
I dreamed my 30-year-old self to be glamorous, living in a plush pad with a handsome husband. He had tumbling black curls and a broken English accent, he may have been French or Italian or even Greek, but either way he was good looking, intelligent, fiery and challenging. I had a great job, presumably in fashion or at a magazine house and I pictured my days hailing cabs and rushing to meetings in ridiculously high Louboutins with a cashmere coat hanging off my shoulder.
Instead, today is the last day of my 20s. I’m sitting in my small flat alone, drinking black coffee whilst attaching myself to the radiator trying to combat the over exaggerated ripples of coldness penetrating my entire body due to the freezing temperatures outside. I’m feeling slightly tender and just a smidgen depressed as this morning I woke around 7am just imagining the aeroplane I was supposed to catch to London today circling above my flat with a huge plume of smoke exuding from the tail reading FUCK YOU HOLLY in an acme style, cartoon-like gesture. I’d planned to spend my celebrations with close friends, watching West End shows, eating sophisticated meals in grand hotels and drinking myself into a stupor, drowning in exotic cocktails and fine wine. I now have a week off work with approximately £7 in my current account and I tragically lost my tooth whilst partying last weekend with a crowd ten years my junior, to my further dismay diminishing any smiling on my birthday selfies.
On the plus side things aren’t as bad as they seem (apparently) and my last minute mood swing on my birthday celebrations has distracted me into the realisation that I am now spending my prolific festivities in the company of the people who mean the most, my daughter, my family and my best friends. My birthday eve will consist of a ‘girly night’ spent with Ruby, painting our nails and applying face masks whilst watching Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion, Clueless and Mean Girls back-to-back. My amazing parents have organised a family meal and a karaoke party with friends and I will spend Sunday night in Malmaison Glasgow indulging in champagne cocktails, white robes and fluffy slippers with my one and only Sir Dandy Pike.
As we grow and mature our expectations and dreams change. What was once important to me then may not be so important to me now. I reach my third decade dreaming more about personal growth and development, health in my body and my delicate mind, happiness, sustainability and spiritual guidance. Keeping my feisty and irritable nature. Here is to wonderment as to what my next thirty years will bring. Hopefully peace, gratefulness and realisation.
Long live the VEF and fuck the Queen, she’s much AULDER than me.