Adulting

Some of us seem to be on our second properties; a life stage that has crept up on us by surprise. Lucy and Mike's is a five-bedroom house in Sutton Coldfield, Lu's hometown that they've recently moved back to. We're all glossing over the fact my one-bedroom flat in Cambridge has cost almost as much and has this industrial view.

Some of the group's brood was left at home, so our meet up was slightly less chaotic than normal. Although still fairly chaotic as every time our heads turned Lu brought in piles of ham, apple pie or Christmas cake flavoured cheese, and children were demonstrating toys and practising walking around every corner. Their venue may have changed, but their hosting is still copious and generous.

I learnt how to keep a dishwasher topped up with salt and how to manage a policeman's (my female uni friends have mostly married policemen) work rota around childcare. We pondered the perils of suspected egg allergies in babies, the Italian love of pannetone and incompetence in the police and NHS systems, in which most of my friends work. We stayed later than planned in Sutton Coldfield which meant I missed a 40th birthday do I should have attended in Cambridge. Despite our very mature topics of conversation I can at least pretend that isn't the age cohort I belong to, and we can remind ourselves that we're growing old semi disgracefully when discussions stray into older, more familiar base territory.