Episode 1 - Flirty at thirty

Ella sat at staring the computer screen, waiting for inspiration.
She considered that, as 30 was such a definitive, depressing and a rather too significant number, she had to write about the fact that she had reached 30 and the fact that she achieved none of the goals she set herself in her 20s and that she was clearly a million miles away from where she wanted to be.

The fact that Ella had no idea where she wanted to be did not assist in shifting her mood from the edge of that very dark place she was in the process of visiting to the realisation that she still had rather a lot of time to do what it was that she intended to achieve.

No, the bottle of vodka in bath. The drifting of time. A youth wasted.

At 25 Ella sat teary eyed, alone in her bedroom, and penned a short story uncomfortably entitled ‘Oh my God, I’m 25’. In the years that ensured, for good reason, she had not shown it to anyone else.

Now at 30, the embarrassing memory of the childish 25 affair resting in the uncomfortable place between her shoulder blades, she was embarking on another epic. ’There are few darker places than 30’.

After 3 lines and 20 minutes of thinking about it, intermingled with a few games of spider solitaire, it was decided that in another 6 years she would look back and cringe with the same fervour as 25 period piece invoked. She turned off the computer and headed for the bathroom.

‘There has to be something in here I can find?’ was mumbled as Ella searched through the draws of potions, lotions, poisons she had been suckered into buying with the promise of the free gifts (still in their wrappers in the draw below).

‘Anti-ageing face pack for oily skin, flaming Perfect!’.
She look at her dry cracked pink nose in the mirror and left the bathroom empty handed.

In the rented 1 bedroomed basement flat Ella had little option but to head to the lounge. She was so very bored. She’d taken the day off work to hide from the world and was beginning to regret it.

The kitchen looked even more unappealing
‘I am not washing up on my 30th birthday’.
And the birthday chocolate had been pushed to the very back of the treat shelf, in the cupboard furthest from reach.
Banging her knuckles on the table Ella remained disciplined. One a day, after the gym.
She knew that she would shortly have to fit into that size 10 wedding dress she’d been eyeing up in between the moment of literary madness and 'spider'.
At least she could multitask.
No date had been set but Ella knew that it was a steep downhill slope from the ‘I’ll lose the weight nearer the time’ theorem, to ‘bugger it, I’ll go for the size 12’.

The TV went on, and off in an almost circular action, after 3 seconds scanning every channel and realising that daytime TV was clearly created by the government to encourage the unemployed into work. Charles would not be back for 2 hours.

‘I’m still not doing the washing up’ a determined Ella repeated several times before the reverse psychology of it directed Ella into the kitchen to face the mountain of unclean receptacles. She turned on the tap on and started washing the dishes. ‘Bugger!’.