💖 The Two Kinds of Friends You Make In Midlife

Hello Restless ones,

Happy Sunday to thee!

By the time you read this I’ll be on the way to our annual family get together at Henley Royal Regatta. Which sounds posh, because it is. But I can confirm it's the one day of the year when I run around the house looking for something un-crumpled to wear and questioning why I don’t own any knickers.

This week, I’m taking you back to Thailand — picking up the nomad-travels tale from that time we had to leave our apartment because of an intrusive monkey.

There’s a paywall towards the end of this week’s post but, free subscribers, you still get a good story.

🤘🏼No post next week because it’s a break week.

Back in your inboxes in two weeks time.

Enjoy and catch you then,

Anna xxx

After the monkey evicted us from our apartment, the villa we moved into was… ridiculous.

Four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a chef’s kitchen, and an upstairs balcony with sun loungers (facing west for the sunset, daahlings). Plus, let’s not forget the palm-tree lined pool with a sculpture of an elephant climbing boulders.

It was impressive. Not only because I had never seen an elephant scaling boulders in real life, but also because, in real life, we would never book to stay at such a palace.

‘Is this what rich people do on their holidays?’ I said to Jamie as I sat down on one of the 12 chairs around the long outdoor dining table.

I was feeling a mix of icky-ness and joy at having scored such a pad. The icky-ness was because it felt like too much — more than we needed and it was a tad (a lot) over the top. The joy was because we had a fancy-pants house to enjoy for the next ten days for the same cost as a teeny apartment. And how often are you gifted a treat like that?

The two feelings sat next to one another, jostling for space, giving the other sideways glances, each of them — Icky and Joy — deciding who should win out.

There was also a third feeling; an overwhelming sense of ‘We have to share this!’ Our new friends Kara and Dan were leaving Koh Lanta soon, moving on to the next stage of their travels in Vietnam, so I dropped a message into a group chat we’d created with Kara and Charlotte, of The Mabbutts, of Lottie Pancake heist fame.

‘Errr, our new pad is redunkulous. I’m thinking we have a leaving shindig for Kara and Dan, Sunday afternoon? I can make pizza! (If I can be arsed).’

Both families were keen. Keener still when I sent them an MTV Cribs-style video of the villa, complete with commentary and a reveal of what was in the fridge — which was mostly Leo beer and leftover rice.

‘Holy moly! That is incredible!’ said Kara.

‘What an epic party house!’ Charlotte replied.

Kara noted there was enough space to put all the kids to bed and for us adults to party on. I liked that idea. Even if we only partied on until midnight, after which I would turn into a pumpkin.

Having friends over for some kind of dinner party felt so 90s and wholesome. As if I were taking the best parts of my slower-lived, pre-tech-boom, childhood and smushing it together with the modern-day family nomad life. All that would be missing was the Black Forest Gateaux and a box of After Eights dinner mints.

‘I’m having palpitations about all the stuff the kids are going to break in the house though…’ said my next message, referring to the ornate Buddhist sculptures, fine art on the walls and two shiny guitars. ‘I’ve already locked one guitar away…’

‘Oh a guitar! Dan says he can’t wait to jam!’ said Kara. Of course, Dan could play the guitar. This information only added an extra layer of cool to this already bodacious couple.

‘OK. I’ll get the guitar out again for Dan, if he promises to behave and not break things.’

Having shared the wonderment of the villa with our new friends, I turned my attention to a more serious matter.

A naked swim.

‘What! Mum’s naked! Mum, are you naked?!’ Storm gaped in disbelief on the patio, as I stood, poised, poolside in goggles and all my birthday suit glory.

‘I am absolutely naked.’ I smiled.

‘Ooh mummy, Nakey nakey!’ said Rocky, now standing next to Storm.

Jamie appeared. ‘Um, Anna — you know we have neighbours,’ he nodded toward the villa next door, which had floor to ceiling windows and overlooked our pool.

‘Yes, I know we have neighbours. They’ll love it. And anyway, it’s our pool — I’m not breaking any rules…. Fire in the hole!’ I yelled, launching from the edge.

The water was cool and skin-tinglingly glorious. There really is nothing like a skinny dip in the middle of the afternoon, in One’s villa in Thailand. Soon the kids were in the water as well (naked, of course). Jamie, swayed by four nudie members of his family, eventually joined in.

At 2pm on Sunday afternoon Kara and Dan rocked up with their three kids. If I could put the moment they walked in in Reservoir Dogs style slow motion, I would: Kara, brown dreadlocks piled on her head in a loose bun, strolling in with a red bucket of kids’ toys under her arm. Dan — blue-tinted shades, stubble beard, and a flat-peaked cap. Both of them tanned beyond measure. All they needed was a theme tune; I’d pick Little Green Bag.

I hugged them hello as the kids charged past us and headed off to check out the pool. Kara set the bucket of toys down and looked around.

‘Well, hellooo Villa!’ She cooed.

‘Niiiiice,’ Dan nodded in approval.

‘We brought gifts,’ Kara gestured to the bucket at her feet. ‘Oh, and do you want this?’ She held up a pink crop top. ‘We found it at the bottom of the ocean in Colombia. Rescued it. Washed it. It’s been great, but we’ve got way too much stuff.’

‘Oh awesome! We’ll take it, that’ll fit Storm, perfect’

‘Er… it was actually mine!’ Kara laughed, and I laughed too. Maybe I’d feel bold enough to rock the pink crop top myself one day soon.

‘Oh. Mine!’ Storm reached up and grabbed the crop top from my hands, running back inside before I caught her.

Ten minutes later Charlotte and Rob tumbled in with their four kids. And that really is how most families seem to arrive into any space, in a tumble of colour and noise. So there were now 10 kids and six adults — the perfect size for a low-key leaving do.

We’d only known these families for a month, but we’d become a tight-knit bunch, seeing each other most days. It’s hard to describe meeting people you really connect with, in a place so far from home. It’s a lusty feeling. Exciting. The kind of feeling that transforms you from a forty-something — low on energy, high on overwhelm and depleted of all the hormones you once had — back into a giggling, carefree teenager.

It wasn’t long before the older kids were clambering up the boulders and flinging themselves into the pool from a ledge at the top. Naturally, the younger swimmers followed suit, which put my heart in my mouth at first, but then (when I told my mum-fear to pipe down) I realised how magical it was.

Storm, who in the past would have been nervous jumping into the water, was doing it without question, on repeat and squealing as she went. Sometimes it takes being with others who are unafraid to keep fear out of the equation entirely.

We’d stocked the house with soda water, beer, and nachos, but it wasn’t enough to sustain all those hungry mouths, so at dinnertime we ordered Kin Burger, which is one of Koh Lanta’s few fast-food restaurants.

We did this because: a) I had not been arsed to cook pizza as I vaguely promised and b) Jamie loves that Kin Burger do 10 baht (25p) brownies. The Kin was a hit with all party guests, young and old. Even if Jamie did have to send the delivery guy back for the brownies.

‘Mum, what’s this?!’ Storm came out from the living room, holding a Ministry of Sound CD.

‘Oh! That’s a CD poppet. It plays music.’

‘A See deee?’ She turned the CD over in her hands, intrigued. ‘How does it work?’

‘Oh well, you put it in the player and… you see that shiny side? Oh, you should try not to touch that shiny side.’ I moved her fingers to the outside of the CD’s rim. I then led her into the living room, where I found a vintage sound system. ‘You put it into the player and… press play.’

Storm slotted the CD in, pressed a button (an actual button!) and her face lit up when banging dance floor tunes blared from the speakers. ‘It’s a see dee everyone! We have a see dee!’ she shouted, dancing around the room.

By 7 p.m. the sun was going down. The kids, now full of burger, were back in a pool that had gone decidedly murky from all the free-spirited, wild grime we three families had secreted into it. The leaves of Banana palms, which hung over the stone walls, were turning from green to gold, and the party vibe was slowly shifting from energetic to mellow.

I was in the kitchen chatting to Charlotte, when Dan began playing Drops of Jupiter on the guitar. I stopped to listen, then realised I was absentmindedly swaying. Beer in hand, on the spot, because that’s just what mums seem to do.

Jamie brushed past me. ‘Oh, he’s playing Jupiter’s song,’ he said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. I looked over to find Jupes — she was sitting next to Storm on the sofa, deep in concentration as she stuffed a snuggly toy into a backpack.

My mind wandered for a moment. Drops of Jupiter is a special song for our family — the lyrics are about the lead singer’s mum dying, and how he imagined her spirit going out into the universe and coming back to him with drops of Jupiter in her hair. We named our Jupiter after that song because that’s what happened to her at birth. We nearly lost her, but she came back. Her hair has a red-tinge to prove it.

Beyond Dan’s song, there was a low hum of contentment coming from the conversations of people who barely knew one another a month ago and were now up to the point of sharing their innermost thoughts. The villa was filled with laughter and the lingering aroma of Thai beer and fast-food (because the host was having too much fun to cook).

Such high levels of contentment meant the kids were happy to be still for once, and it wasn’t long before we grown-ups let them watch a movie. I say movie, but I mean movies. Three different age groups, spread across three different screens, in three different rooms — all of them up past bedtime.