Colleen's hen party
I went home for the weekend on Thursday night, actually spent my study leave studying, then gave up on that sometime on Friday afternoon. 
hathy_col's hen party was epic and fabulous; I laughed a lot, ate cream and scones, played 'Pin the Appendage On The Gentleman", dressed up as Susan Sto Helit, drank awful psychedelic cocktails in an eighties glam bar, met many marvellous people and saw many marvellous people again, danced and danced, and poured myself home down the M6 yesterday feeling rather like toothpaste does when you've squeezed it out of the tube.
My favourite part was being greeted the following morning by Colleen saying mournfully, "I killed Whitney Houston."
(As she killed Michael Jackson by going out dancing the night of graduation, bets are being taken on whom the wedding reception will kill. The good odds are on Status Quo.)
My second part was arriving at the flat on Saturday afternoon and being invited to explain to the other sixteen women in the room how I know Colleen to start with.
"I met her on the internet," I said. "In 2001."
And now I'm the bridesmaid at her wedding. What a wonderful world.
The slightly alarming coda was being asked by one of the other trainees today, apropos of nothing, "How did you get the white stuff in your hair?"
It is charming, I think, that my colleagues find my Secret Other Life quirky and endearing. Even when pictures of me holding plastic weapons appear on Facebook.
In other news there is no other news. I have two weeks and four days left in agriculture; I really, really love the Gaslight Anthem; Shim and I are watching a lot of Scrubs and apparently I have many feelings about Dr. Cox and Jordan; oh, and I haven't seen this week's Fringe yet! Too much glitter, too much dancing. I'm working on it as we speak.
Last night I was driving very gingerly down the A14 in the thick fog, with nothing in front or in my mirrors but grey and black, thinking, the only way out of this is through. Two weeks, four days. So much glitter, so much dancing.
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hathy_col's hen party was epic and fabulous; I laughed a lot, ate cream and scones, played 'Pin the Appendage On The Gentleman", dressed up as Susan Sto Helit, drank awful psychedelic cocktails in an eighties glam bar, met many marvellous people and saw many marvellous people again, danced and danced, and poured myself home down the M6 yesterday feeling rather like toothpaste does when you've squeezed it out of the tube.
My favourite part was being greeted the following morning by Colleen saying mournfully, "I killed Whitney Houston."
(As she killed Michael Jackson by going out dancing the night of graduation, bets are being taken on whom the wedding reception will kill. The good odds are on Status Quo.)
My second part was arriving at the flat on Saturday afternoon and being invited to explain to the other sixteen women in the room how I know Colleen to start with.
"I met her on the internet," I said. "In 2001."
And now I'm the bridesmaid at her wedding. What a wonderful world.
The slightly alarming coda was being asked by one of the other trainees today, apropos of nothing, "How did you get the white stuff in your hair?"
It is charming, I think, that my colleagues find my Secret Other Life quirky and endearing. Even when pictures of me holding plastic weapons appear on Facebook.
In other news there is no other news. I have two weeks and four days left in agriculture; I really, really love the Gaslight Anthem; Shim and I are watching a lot of Scrubs and apparently I have many feelings about Dr. Cox and Jordan; oh, and I haven't seen this week's Fringe yet! Too much glitter, too much dancing. I'm working on it as we speak.
Last night I was driving very gingerly down the A14 in the thick fog, with nothing in front or in my mirrors but grey and black, thinking, the only way out of this is through. Two weeks, four days. So much glitter, so much dancing.
raven is also at Dreamwidth: there is or are
comment(s). Comment there or here.