I am working on my jollity.
Usually I am pretty jolly on the whole, though I say so myself as shouldn't (as my dear Mum would say.) I have, however, been proper poorly over the last two days, hence the absence of the Daily Blog. I did manage to drag my Snuffling
Self out to the shops (well, we had to eat) and to an important meeting (which I had to chair.) In between times, I indulged in bouts of excessive self-pity. I always think self-pity is a most unattractive look and one best avoided though every so often I
Tomorrow, however, is the Annual Jolly Girls Outing so I need to quickly lift myself from misery to jollity. As the Mother and Nanna of All the Jolly Girls (or TMANOATJG to give me my full title) and the originator of the JGO (which
sounds like an orange drink but isn't) I am required to be on Top Form as far as general jollity is concerned so, as I say, I am working on it.
Fortunately I have help arriving in the welcome shape of the Youngest of the Darling Daughters and granddaughter Hazel who are staying overnight. I have sorted out the beds, the Giant Penguin is dressed all ready for the doorstep
and I have just taken Mr B's birthday cake out of the oven.
I know what you are thinking - wasn't it his birthday last week? Did he not celebrate with a couple of cupcakes, each adorned with a candle? Isn't one birthday a year enough for any man? But, hey, on his actual birthday there was
only me to chirrup Happy Birthday and, you may remember, the poor man even had to light his own candles. Tomorrow when we get home from our outing, the Jolly Girls will treat him to a proper rendition of the traditional birthday song. Possibly with a descant.
And always supposing I remember to buy matches, he might not even have to light the candles...
The Middle of the Darling Daughters has managed to persuade her fella to remove The Trio's car seats from the Jeep so that all six of us Jolly Girls can travel to Brighton together. We will be able to have a sing song on the way
there and on the way back. It will make for Considerable Added Jollity and, as far as our driver is concerned, will doubtless make a welcome change from The Wheels on The Bus and Incey Wincey Spider.
Yes, there is nothing like song to lift the spirits. It was such a pity that I wasn't well enough to join the first session of our Singing For Pleasure Choir this morning - though the long lie-in was certainly good for me. I have
to accept that I would not have been able to add anything to the tunefulness of the gathering, croaking away to The Lullaby of Broadway. That Nightingale who sang in Berkeley Square was definitely not me.
It was another songbird who, at my most miserable, stopped me in my self-pitying tracks and made me smile again. I was trailing home from the shops, weary from a long wait in the chemists for Mr B's prescription, when I noticed
a woman just ahead of me had halted her hurrying steps and was gazing upwards, smiling. As I joined her, casting my eyes to the heavens - or at least to the uppermost branches of a silver birch tree in someone's front garden - I became aware of a red-breasted
robin, all puffed up against the cold, flinging his voice out into the grey sky as if the joy of the world depended on his song.
Bless Cock Robin, he made my day and brought me back to my customary Happy Place.
If he hadn't been a bird - and male to boot - he'd have made a pitch perfect Jolly Girl.