Julia Gets a Life by Lynne Barrett-Lee

Author:Lynne Barrett-Lee [Barrett-Lee, Lynne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: General, Fiction, Women Photographers, Cardiff (Wales)
ISBN: 9780553813043
Google: agJZAQAACAAJ
Amazon: 1905170408
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2000-10-05T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

BACK TO EARTH WITH a (literal) bump now. Real life must resume.

But this week I at least have a packed programme of events:

Work TOYL Face2Face finals (yawn)

School Max’s end of term party – make fairy cakes (yawn)

Social Invites x 2:

Moira Bugle’s charity buffet lunch for distressed hamsters (or whatever. Yawn plus eye contour concealer stick)

Dinner with Howard and Nick (High Point)

Pastoral Take Lily to Clinic (Low Point)

Marital Summit talk to discuss finalising of kids’ holiday arrangements with Richard (Flash Point)

Despite an immediate future that involves little in the way of glitz and nothing in the way of sex (given all that up now – am obviously past it), I am at least enjoying a fair amount of local attention, since my picture was in The Herald on Monday. Though I eventually ended up as plain old Photographer, Julia Potter and the headline turned into Heidi Harris in Party Punch-Up , this was the national press, and I came out surprisingly well. Despite the blood situation, and the fact that most of me was folded up in an ungainly muddle of limbs on the floor, it captured, I feel, my derring-do.

The big news at work is that Angharad De Laney, the bitch’s offspring, has made the local finals of the Face2Face competition, which means not only will I be expected to be there at the judging, but may also be expected to take the publicity shots as well. I am harbouring a serious and completely low-life desire to make her look as crappy as possible (which will be hard as she has a face-like-an-angel, though some bitch genes, obviously) and have to spend half an hour in the bath with my most strident empowering paperback, before I can cope with the prospect of her winning the final with anything less than a snarl. But I remind myself that I am now:

Famous

In the papers

Friend to the stars

In possession of Craig James’s jeans and vest

and that I have not had an angsty thought – in fact, any thought – about the possible resumption of sex-thing between Richard and the bitch since the middle of last week, when I was still an unknown and feeling like shit.

Now why should that be?

Fairy cakes.

Making fairy cakes is absolutely de rigueur for the year six end of term party. It’s up there with sewing in name tapes. As it should be. It has got to be the simplest culinary task on planet housewife. Four fat, four flour, four sugar, two eggs. Some icing, some smarties, some wax paper cases, a smile and a song and a pinny and done.

Except that I have none of those ingredients apart from some billion year old icing sugar, that has, in any case, turned itself into an attractive box shaped Damien Hurst type art installation, complete with petrified ants etc. This is by virtue of inter-carton communication between said sugar and a plastic pot of glacé cherries with an undiscovered hole.

All of which quite neatly defines my relationship with baking as an enjoyable pastime i.

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