Mum's the word

I had only my second Saturday night out of the year a couple of weeks ago. The previous one had been on my own in a deserted village pub in rural Cornwall, in January. No wonder I’m single.

This time, the venue was a Chinese restaurant in deepest Essex for my cousin’s 30th birthday celebrations. I knew only a handful of the 30 or so people in the party and was consequently sat on a table with my parents, my sister-in-law, my cousin and her boyfriend, my aunt and uncle, and four of their friends (two couples). I was, as always , the only single person in the group over the age of 30.

The venue was packed with hen parties. Women must have outnumbered men by about four to one. Although the food was appalling and overpriced, the restaurant’s attraction was the fact that it had a dance floor, which belted out cheesy classics to the gaggle of underdressed and overtanned Essex girls.

I had rarely been anywhere like it – and certainly not for 15 years. All of the women were dressed up to the nines, with acres (literally, in some acres) of flesh haging out everywhere you looked. I thought back to my last big night out, New Year’s Eve, when the female friend I went out with turned up in jeans and trainers. One of my cousin’s friends was absolutely stunning. I felt like a kid in a sweet shop. But one without any money.

My aunt came over to ask me to dance, accompanied by one of my cousin’s single friends. I declined, on the basis that I was sober and had a sore leg (trying to train for a marathon from scratch in nine weeks is not advisable). But the friend was insistent. I looked at her bleached blonde hair, glowing tan and ample curves and was more than a little tempted. But then her grating accent, state of inebriation and the age gap brought me back to reality – and I held firm.

As she wandered off, my mum said: ‘She likes you.’ Thanks for the vote of confidence, mum, but it would probably have been a very different story if she had been sober.  

There is only one thing worse than trying to pulling someone 10 years your junior in front of your parents. And that is failing to pull someone 10 years your junior in front of your parents. With a wistful look at the dance floor, I got my coat.