That sounded excellent, and so as ever when something sounds excellent, I said okay and that was that.
Where we were 'going' of course, was the Family Festival my cousin Walty had organised for the children.
It's becoming an annual thing - games in the garden, some fun activities (pin the badge on the super-hero, race about with an old t-shirt for a cape, and jump on any uncles who might have just turned up) plus overnight camping with a campfire. The kids love it, and will remember it all their lives... which is why she does it, I suppose. I said I'd go for an hour or so.
Anyway, my Mum was worried about me not-eating beforehand so she produced an army of sizzling sausages, spoonfuls of baked beans and some crunchy chips by magic, and my Dad and I happily wolfed it all down with a swig of tea.
-
"Uncle Matthew's here!" cried a little voice from the garden. A horde of stomping miniature super-heroes rushed towards me with sonic screwdrivers and light sabers.
"Do have some pizza," said Aunty Mary. "There's lots of food, here, let me show you."
"Oh I..." I started to say. "Okay." Politeness was taking over.
Before long, I was holding a plastic plate with a pyramid of food weighing it down like the hanging gardens of Babylon. Pizza, cheese, bread, grapes - a cornucopia of snackery that would have made Henry Tudor's eyes pop out.
"Are you seriously having fruit with pizza?" asked my niece. She's fifteen and, as has been widely noted, knows everything.
"Erm... they're grapes," I said.
"Erm... that's still a fruit," she sassily replied. I told her it was no different to a Hawaiian pizza and she wandered off.
"Are you okay there?" asked my Mum, raising an eyebrow, "Got enough?"
"Yes thanks!" I beamed, cheekily.
-
My phoned buzzed. "Mubbs!" it said. It was my friend Luke.
"Come to Simon's house! Ladz social"
I had forgotten about that. So, I let that ridiculous Z go uncommented-upon and replied:
"Cool."
... before saying my goodbyes, slinking out of the Family Festival, and getting in the car on my way to Simon's.
The sun was low in the sky, bouncing brightly off the concrete as I turned down the hill towards Purley. Trees glimmered in the golden light, happily waving against the still blue sky.
I knocked the door.
"That was quick!" said Luke, beckoning me in. "Come on in Mubbs, we're just about to order."
I did a slow blink and an inward sigh. Adam, Henry and Simon were perched on the sofa, peering into a Chinese takeaway menu. There was athletics on the television. I flicked off my shoes. A few moments later...
"Matt, what are you having?"
Yep. There it is. "Oh count me out," I said. "I just ate."
"Aw come on, you've got to eat!" said Luke, "It's the ladz!" I groaned inwardly and mentally scrolled through all my experiences with Chinese food - a mouthful of crispy seaweed, a slurping bellyfull of slimy vegetables and spicy noodles, a stringy duck in a sickly plum sauce stuck between my teeth. I felt more than a little bit sick.
Yet somehow, through some mysterious process I still don't understand, thirty five minutes later, I was tucking into lemon chicken and special fried rice with the best of them.
Later, the conversation worked its way round to athletics.
"Tell you what Henry, I'm currently trying to run a mile in six minutes," I said, nodding at the 1500m runners powering round the track on the TV. I chomped into a bit of chilli beef.
"You're not moving very fast," replied Henry. Luke burst out laughing.
I just looked down at my hard-working shirt buttons and the enormous stomach bulging beneath them. He's not wrong.
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