September 25th 2015- Butlins, ‘Boy’ and Boobs!

boy reduced

25/09/15-Butlins: This was always destined to be a big event for ‘us lot’. We three friends who’ve travelled so far. Friends for forty years. Emerging from the chaos of our childhood to navigate the turbulent rapids of our teens and beyond. Finally arriving at our designated stop, ‘Adulthood’ complete with shed loads of emotional baggage and not a ‘pot to piss in’ as my lovely nan would’ve observed!

Still here we are at the gateway to the 80’s and it’s all the more precious now because I’ve stepped off the cancer carousel, securing myself a temporary stay of execution on the understanding that a short delay would be unlikely to make this little predicament I’m in any worse-so that we can have this one last dance-me, my two beautiful friends and our six boobs!

And as if it isn’t already brilliant enough we find our darling ‘Events Manager’ Luce, has upgraded us without saying a word, to the most fanciest, shmanciest lakeside chalet so as we drink expensive cocktails on our posh patio looking down on the peasants below we know we really are ‘Uptown Girls’!

The weather is glorious, our costumes are fabulous and the views are hilarious. And as we unpack our 80’s moves, dusting them off and throwing them around on the dance floor to the soundtrack of our youth, our hearts are filled with laughter and life and love.

It’s amazing how the old rhythms take over, pushing back the decades as we perform the New Wave ‘Gravedigger’ to Soft Cell and the more Gothicly influenced ‘Shuffle Around Slowly Looking on the Floor for that Lost Quid’ to everything else.

As midnight approaches and the crowds continue to party, our thoughts are turning to food, a nice hot beverage and getting back into our Jamas!

I knew that tears would be shed this weekend I just didn’t anticipate they would all be tears of joy and happiness and laughing till my cheeks hurt.

So as we sit in the beer garden with the sun going down on our top trip down memory lane (I so wanted to put mammary in there) me, heady with success as the champion of our Crazy Golf tournament and they, tying to convince me that they only let me win ‘cos I’ve got cancer, a little voice quite seriously asks “When did the 80’s end?”

When indeed Miss Macey! And there in that perfect moment, we three friends say goodbye to the end of a kind of innocence to a time when cancer was still just a word.


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