Back in the game

It’s all good today – we won the Ashes for a start. I’ve no idea how, since the scoring of cricket will forever be a mystery to me, but I do know that the delicious Freddie Flintoff had a lot to do with it, as did the rest of the team, including Kevin Pieterson, but they’re just not as pretty. So – hurrah to us! We are so kicking Australia’s arse at the moment, and that’s no bad thing as far as I’m concerned.

Quite apart from the excitement over the cricket, I had quite the action-packed weekend. Went out on Friday with Nev after work – we were supposed to be ‘just having a couple’…but you know how that goes. Kicked it all off with some cocktails in mybar – we were celebrating the start of the weekend. We then decided to be sensible and go get something to eat, which we did, and then sense went out the window as we decided to round off the evening with another ‘couple’ of drinks at Gerry’s in Soho. Nev is a member, (I’m just the hanger-on) but we still got harassed by the door staff, who were muttering darkly about non-payment of member subs. We sidestepped them and Nev just blagged us in, though she admitted to me once we were safely over the threshold that she had only ever paid a one-off fee, years ago. I asked her to keep her voice down.

It was dead at first, but then filled up all of a sudden with lots of rather eccentric types. In particular, there was a scarf-wearing, Byron-quoting Keith Richards wannabe who claimed to be a cartoonist by trade, and referred to Nev and I as ‘creatures’, but then bought us drinks, so we tolerated him. Until, that is, that he told us quite earnestly that he only really likes to sleep with seventeen-year-old girls, because they are less ‘complicated’. He was forty. I said I thought that was a shame and quite sad, and so ended the complimentary drinks section of the evening. But by that time there were lots of new people to talk to, including Cary, a man with such a bad stammer that talking to him was exhausting, not least because when you had deciphered what exactly he was trying to say, you realised it was not worth the effort. There was also much to look at, including a woman of, shall we say, advanced years, wearing a sequinned pink and silver catsuit, giving an impromptu T’ai Chi demonstration. Or at least I think it was T’ai Chi. Then we met a very interesting man, who impressed Nev and I by singing not only ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time’ by Britney Spears…in Yiddish, but also Jumpin’ Jack Flash by the Rolling Stones…in Greek. That’s entertainment, alright. I was very much taken with him, so we talked and drank some more, and I was having such a good time that I didn’t notice how much time had passed. It was time to go, and yes, yes, he did ask for my number, and because he was ever so charming, I gave it to him. Back in the game.

Soon as Nev and I stepped outside, the heavens opened, and we took an executive decision to run to Balans and eat breakfast (well, what else do you call a meal that you eat at 4.30am?), which worked as a very good hangover preventative measure. Saturday was spent in various stages of recovery, mainly watching the Home and Away omnibus on Channel 5 – if you haven’t watched it for a while, I wholeheartedly recommend it – it’s got everything, romance, murders, high-school angst, adultery and dressmaking. Give it a go.

Sunday was a big day, because I went to meet Red to view her new flat, with a view to taking the spare room. Freedom is in sight! The room is great, I’m taking it, and I am so relieved. Finally, I can leave the cramp twins. I told them I was leaving last night. I kept a straight face, played up how much money I would save by moving, rather than the real reason, which is how much sanity I will be saving. So, now all I have to do is organise the move. Yay! May have to buy a new pair of shoes to celebrate. Wait, I already did that.