At 4pm the days work will be done. The house cleaned, shopping stashed and all the other ghastly Saturday jobs will have been accomplished for another week. At 4pm this Saturday the door knocker will announce the beginning of another Gin Club meeting. The girls are coming!
Me girls. We have seen each other through births and deaths, fatness and thinness, beginnings, ends and all the mucky bits in between. For nearly thirty years these exceptional women have held my head above water on many occasions. Lending their love and support through the horror of my parents quick deaths and the nights when my children refused to do what the book said.
Our Saturday afternoon Gin Co-operative evolved from our men deserting us in favour of some windswept pitch and a pair of disgustingly muddy football boots. We whiled away the hours adding gin to a pot of tea until we had solved the problems of the week.
They are friends who listen as much as they talk, never judge or disapprove and have an uncanny ability to turn up when I need them most. They are my unpaid therapists, my miserable bitches, my lovely, lovely girls. I am lucky to have friends like this.
I wonder what the nursing home will make of us?
"And when there is mischief in the world, will you turn your back and tut disapprovingly, or will you pour and gin and put the world to rights with the best women in the universe."