Muchas gracias for el Awardo.
I notice three women have already occupied the room which is meant to be ours, busy getting on with rude things, and looking decidedly dodgy.
As I tentatively push open the door, dragging my heaving suitcase rammers full of tops, jeans, boots, duffel coat (in case of the smog) gas mask, emergency life jacket (with mandatory whistle) and my trusty laptop (not a single sex toy in sight – I’m British), they all freeze guiltily and stare at me wide eyed.
‘Er’ I gasp stopping in my tracks ‘ello ello ello, what the bloody hell is going on here then?’ (I also manifested in to a 60 year old copper as the door opened.)
They freeze and don’t respond.
The blonde one is bent over a box smiling provocatively wearing nothing but a tiny white t-shirt and suspenders, her eyes wide and her figure tight, the brunette is holding a guitar (the secret sex weapon of all the… erm… random brunette hotel sex dwellers?) and last but no means least, the token punk in the corner clearly has an attitude problem as she is now grimacing moodily towards me, wearing nothing but nipple tassles and suspenders, clearly not happy at the unavoidable interruption to their festivities.
Nipple tassles? Seriously? Is my first thought. How positively 1999!
‘Hang on a minute’ I say to my room mate, as I come to an immediate halt and she careens in to the back of me, ‘are we in the wrong place?’ (Secretly a bit worried that she is a fabulous madam who is trying to inaugurate me in to her filthy, lucrative (not saying I wouldn’t consider it, if it got me out of going back to work) escort ring. Visions of belle du jour flying through my mind and already imagining my new blog name; flab mature.)
‘What kind of room have you booked us?’ I gasp as she falls about laughing, ‘I am here for the MADS, and I’m pretty sure, even after my run in with a junkie (never a dull moment), that my train said Euston (or Houston as I kept saying, until I was kindly corrected,) so how come I have ended up in what appears to be the red light district?
‘Lets just ignore them’ she instructs, busy plonking her bag on the bed furthest away as I gawp at their heavily made up eyes and smooth, line free semi naked figures, trying not to do my back in as I heave my ‘light and airy’ travel bag on to the curry scented duvet. (Am I the only one who thought the hotel smelt of curry?)
Oh how times have changed, I think, turning green.
Should I be worried that faced with a ménage a trois, I went straight to checking out the lack of kangaroo pouch, the fact that none of them are wearing spanks and holy hell, realising these women are about to get it on, with the lights on!!
Are they mental???
The last time I had sex with the lights on was when Jennifer Anniston was still happily enjoying the motion in the ocean with Bradley Pitt.
‘What time is it? My inspection of their plucked pubes and plastic boobs comes to a halt momentarily as my room mate interrupts my reverie.
‘Five.’ I respond quickly turning my back on the scene and beginning to unpack.
1 hour to go.
- Dress? Check.
- Chicken fillets? Check.
- Fake tan (so streaked I look like I have a dodgy skin condition?) check.
- Killer heels I can’t walk in? Check.
- Wonky eyeliner? Check.
- Serious need to poo every couple of minutes? Check.
- Beer? Check.
- Gracious loser face practiced? Check.
- Acceptance speech? No point.
An hour later as we bid our farewell to the miserable scantily clad sullen squad still scowling from behind my bed, I am immensely excited, enormously anxious and wonderfully eager to meet a complete bunch of nutters whom I love.
- Beer? Check.
- Wee? Check.
- Smoke? Check.
- Laughter? Check.
- Complete loss of what time it is? Check.
- Smiles? Check.
- Anticipation? Check.
- Lots of worthy winners? Check.
- My category about to be announced and needing a wee? Check.
The anticipation nearly killed me.
I honestly had not expected to win. I don’t win a thing, that doesn’t happen to me. I do really well and am always a worthy runner up and honestly would have been happy with that. So when she said my name, (MAMMY WOOOOOOOOO!) I nearly passed out.
Hearing my name called out will forever more be one of those memories I revisit each and every time I am feeling worthless, empty, hollow and insignificant.
To have so many beautiful and empowered, talented, kind, friendly and stunning, open and genuine ladies cheering me on as I walked up to collect my award has left me feeling on top of the world and absolutely floating above the clouds for the last 24 hours.
It isn’t about the prize (although I still want it. Ahem.)
It isn’t about the notoriety and it isn’t about the winning. (OK, maybe it is a little bit.) Honestly.
For me, it really is about that truly precious moment that signaled to me that the crappy era I seemed to be stuck in, could potentially becoming to an end on a high.
At no point when I was in hospital, at my lowest ebb did I ever believe for one second, that this journey would draw to a close with me holding an award for my blog, in a room full of the most supportive strangers and now friends that I have ever met, being cheered on and hugged.
I cannot thank you all enough for voting, for reading, for crying with me, laughing with me and for holding my hand throughout this year.
Without the support of my beautiful Irish one, my bestest friends (you know who you are) and each and every reader, I wouldn’t have done it. Which sounds twee but its true.
One of my readers, Liska from new mum online, looked surprised when I thanked her for a comment she left on my blog, six months ago. I was actually shocked she was surprised as honest to god I remember each and every one, you have all got me through it. And that is the truth.
Sally, thankyou for organizing this event and for giving me hope and allowing me to come face to face with some absolute diamonds, meet and discover so many amazing blogs and for the doorman (Nice touch.) The event was great, the hotel (ignoring the dodgy golden girls) was beautiful, the canapé’s looked amazing (I was too busy drinking) and the doorman was fit. (Did I mention him already?)
WELL DONE TO ALL THE WINNERS and to EVERYBODY WHO WAS NOMINATED. WE ARE ALL FECKING WINNERS COS WE ALL ROCKED IT LAST NIGHT AND FOR THE LAST YEAR!!
I CANT BELIEVE I WON!!! (honestly still smacked in the gob, especially with the quality of the blogs and ladies I was up against!)
Heading back in to the hotel room, a lot more worse for wear and feeling a little sick from the permanent and natural high I now seemed to be floating on, I climbed in to bed and gave the three skanky amigos girls, with the perfect bodies, about to do it with the light on (!!!), the middle finger.
‘You may be slim, smoking and carefree but I’m an award winner’ I slur in to the pillow.
And promptly fall asleep with half a cheese sandwich and the cherished trophy stuck to the side of my face.
*(It’s not just me is it? Twin room? Nipple tassle? RANDOM.)