(no subject)
I am largely indifferent to Valentine's Day - and in return it is largely indifferent to me. I haven't been out with many men who are fond of the grand gesture but when I have it has not been around mid February. I don't begrudge all those girls their bouquets and silly balloons - in fact my colleague's spendy roses helped me make up my mind what colour I want to paint the kitchen (a chalky grey lilac if anyone is remotely interested).
But L suggested we form a posse and go to Bloomsbury Lanes for their annual 'anti valentine' do and it sounded like ten tonnes of fun. She said she went last year so I enquired if it was any good. 'Well we didn't get there till midnight and we were hammered' she replied but hey I thought, why ever not?
We all met for a drink in Marchmont Street beforehand and the jollities commenced. However at least five of us thought we were bound for the far posher All Star Lanes and were a little put off by the overwhelming smell of mince that greeted us as as we descended the tattily carpeted stairs. The place was jumping, the toilets were overflowing, but everyone seemed to be having a lot of fun to a Guilty Pleasures soundtrack. We weren't able to book a bowling lane until midnight which seemed a light years away but fortunately we managed to bag a karaoke room - which had the allure (and smell) of a janitor's store cupboard as well as microphones held together with sellotape. But we got stuck in and there are hours of damning camera footage of pretty much everyone murdering popular hits of days gone by. Eventually we got turfed out of there which was a relief as I think we had pretty much used up all the available oxygen. A quick bop was called for (again captured by ace cameraman S) and L and I found oursleves the target of some hopped up young 'med students'. We were near hysterical at being chatted up by youths of 20 and 24 years respectively. Mine was screamingly posh and laughed raucously when I asked him if he lived in the nearby UCH digs. 'Oh GOD no!' he exclaimed. 'I have a house in Primrose hill!'.
'Oh I think you'll make a fabulous doctor' I simpered, 'I'd tell you all my deepest secrets!' 'Do you have any?' he enquired. 'Only that I just took eight years off my age' I thought. Well this was going nowhere fast and I felt slightly queasy about the barely legal aspect so managed to lose him effectively in the crowds. But I guess I should be flattered.
Then it was bowling hour, and K having departed on a sneaky booty call meant I was in a team all of my own. Somehow I managed to lose out on winning by a handful of points - so bowling joins darts and pool as one of those sports that becomes a revelation after about 60 vodka tonics. One of which L managed to upend into her handbag somehow - she mailed me the next day to say she'd just found the slice of lemon nestling at the bottom of her bag next to a very soggy ipod. After several run-ins with the over zealous bouncers it was back onto the dancefoor for more wigging out to Olivia Newton John et al. The event was supposed to go on till 3am but we all got turfed out at 2am - perhaps something to do with the fact that the raw sewage from the toilets was now seeping toward toward the dancefloor. Oh the glamma!
Memory now dim but a gaggle of us shambled off to Russell Square and had a really Grange Hill-style argument/collective flounce off about who was geting a cab where and with whom, but we all arrived home safely and only mildly concerned about the fours hours sleep before were due at work again.
Dragged myself in the next day with about 5 minutes to pack my outfit for that evening - it was Jimmy's birthday drinks and there was no way I was missing that even if I felt like death. Rallied around 6 o'clock and went and met P for his legendary 'after work drinks, before we made our way up to Camden. It was a great turn out and I was reunited with my fave boyband (Readers Wifes) and got to see lots of other people I hadn't seen in an age like Stuart and Gwen, and Marcus and John. Ended up sitting outside on a bench, just out of range of the patio heaters, which, while sociable, turned me into a block of ice as I shivered in my mac (that Richard said made me look like I was the French Resistance). And as the pub shut I felt my organs begin to fail so made a break for the tube home as plans were very obviously in place for continuing the party to the break of day. Spent the rest of the weekend pretty much recovering. I am feeling my (real) age.
But L suggested we form a posse and go to Bloomsbury Lanes for their annual 'anti valentine' do and it sounded like ten tonnes of fun. She said she went last year so I enquired if it was any good. 'Well we didn't get there till midnight and we were hammered' she replied but hey I thought, why ever not?
We all met for a drink in Marchmont Street beforehand and the jollities commenced. However at least five of us thought we were bound for the far posher All Star Lanes and were a little put off by the overwhelming smell of mince that greeted us as as we descended the tattily carpeted stairs. The place was jumping, the toilets were overflowing, but everyone seemed to be having a lot of fun to a Guilty Pleasures soundtrack. We weren't able to book a bowling lane until midnight which seemed a light years away but fortunately we managed to bag a karaoke room - which had the allure (and smell) of a janitor's store cupboard as well as microphones held together with sellotape. But we got stuck in and there are hours of damning camera footage of pretty much everyone murdering popular hits of days gone by. Eventually we got turfed out of there which was a relief as I think we had pretty much used up all the available oxygen. A quick bop was called for (again captured by ace cameraman S) and L and I found oursleves the target of some hopped up young 'med students'. We were near hysterical at being chatted up by youths of 20 and 24 years respectively. Mine was screamingly posh and laughed raucously when I asked him if he lived in the nearby UCH digs. 'Oh GOD no!' he exclaimed. 'I have a house in Primrose hill!'.
'Oh I think you'll make a fabulous doctor' I simpered, 'I'd tell you all my deepest secrets!' 'Do you have any?' he enquired. 'Only that I just took eight years off my age' I thought. Well this was going nowhere fast and I felt slightly queasy about the barely legal aspect so managed to lose him effectively in the crowds. But I guess I should be flattered.
Then it was bowling hour, and K having departed on a sneaky booty call meant I was in a team all of my own. Somehow I managed to lose out on winning by a handful of points - so bowling joins darts and pool as one of those sports that becomes a revelation after about 60 vodka tonics. One of which L managed to upend into her handbag somehow - she mailed me the next day to say she'd just found the slice of lemon nestling at the bottom of her bag next to a very soggy ipod. After several run-ins with the over zealous bouncers it was back onto the dancefoor for more wigging out to Olivia Newton John et al. The event was supposed to go on till 3am but we all got turfed out at 2am - perhaps something to do with the fact that the raw sewage from the toilets was now seeping toward toward the dancefloor. Oh the glamma!
Memory now dim but a gaggle of us shambled off to Russell Square and had a really Grange Hill-style argument/collective flounce off about who was geting a cab where and with whom, but we all arrived home safely and only mildly concerned about the fours hours sleep before were due at work again.
Dragged myself in the next day with about 5 minutes to pack my outfit for that evening - it was Jimmy's birthday drinks and there was no way I was missing that even if I felt like death. Rallied around 6 o'clock and went and met P for his legendary 'after work drinks, before we made our way up to Camden. It was a great turn out and I was reunited with my fave boyband (Readers Wifes) and got to see lots of other people I hadn't seen in an age like Stuart and Gwen, and Marcus and John. Ended up sitting outside on a bench, just out of range of the patio heaters, which, while sociable, turned me into a block of ice as I shivered in my mac (that Richard said made me look like I was the French Resistance). And as the pub shut I felt my organs begin to fail so made a break for the tube home as plans were very obviously in place for continuing the party to the break of day. Spent the rest of the weekend pretty much recovering. I am feeling my (real) age.