I almost went to my fridge and opened the bottle of Bolly last night.
Almost, but I didn’t and there is a very good reason (maybe crazy reason) why my friend Debbs was served a glass of port, rather than the sparkly bubbles she so deserved after travelling many hours on a train to see me.
It’s The Bad Bolly.
Let me explain.
One week before Elijah was born, my husband sold his business. He came home that evening, 7 days before our lives were shattered forever, clutching a lovely bottle of Bolly given to him by the new owners of Boss Alien.
Being heavily pregnant, we decided we would save the bottle and open it on the day we came home with our new baby. The perfect celebration.
The bottle is still sitting in the fridge. Unopened.
As my husband carried that bottle home, he’d just earnt enough money to pay off the mortgage and his second son was due shortly. As he walked in that night, he’d said to me “life is bloody brilliant babe”.
We now call it The Bad Bolly.
It’s hard to look at that bottle without thinking the Universe gave us a big, fat slap for our vanity.
So what do we do with it now?
I can’t drink it. I can’t give it to anyone else for fear of transferring our “bad luck”. I can’t bring myself to pour it away either. I feel I might be punished again if I do that.
Like I said, crazy! But there it is.
So answers on a postcard please and in the meantime I’ll keep serving up the Port instead.