Husband's job has meant that for almost 8 years I have stayed in. Well not EVERY night like a prisoner - but it hasn't been as easy for me to skip into London town and paint it red as it was in the pre-kids (golden) days. Now that he has changed jobs and walks through the door every evening at 5pm ish, I have taken advantage of the freedom and raced out the door at every given opportunity. It has been SWELL.
One big merry-go-round of nights out, birthday celebrations and then topped off with a blissful trip to Paris. It began a few weeks back - the week after my 'Grappa man' night out as it shall be known. (Though let's not bring that up again as Husband still frets over it and let sleeping dogs lie and all that...). I headed out on the Wed night to a gig with a good friend. Work obligations - and an early start the next day kept me from my usual drinking antics, so a few simple beers and much merriment enjoying Matt Berry's band in Islington, and I was on the train home.
That Friday I reached the epitome of being deeply uncool - and threw myself into a night of audience participation at 'Sing-a-long-a-Purple-Rain.' It was hilarious. The film itself is beyond woeful - 30 years on, and you see how dreadfully sexiest it is (Appollonia wearing not very much to sing Sex Shooter being the low point) and that 'the Kid' is basically a wife-bashing arrogant little prick who kisses like he is resuscitating someone. But... the songs. They are as fresh as when I heard Let's go Crazy on a tinny radio back in 1984. What shocked me, was the theatre was packed with folk who weren't BORN when Purple Rain first hit the flicks. There were jump cuts, it crackled and the dialogue was sphincter clenching stuff - but we were all on our feet waving our hands to Purple Rain at the end. If there is any way way to have more fun - I have yet to find it.
Saturday night and a different spectrum of culture. Having never been to the ballet - my good mate Sam bought us tickets to A Winter's Tale at the Royal Opera House. It was breath taking - from the magnificent Opera House and it's uber sexy bar (s) to the mesmerising ballet itself. Just beautiful. I am officially a convert. Opera you can take, but a ballet - ahhhh... just stunning. I wish I had a waist the size of those spritely nymphs. How they cavorted around a stage for as long as they did, without collapsing in a sweaty coma, I have no idea.
Monday, was my birthday and once again from high culture to low - all spectrums were covered. After heading out for family cake (usual bedlam with Sproglette covering Sproglet in orange juice, Husband being mortified and me desperately trying to clean the place up) I took the kids to see the latest Muppet Movie. Meh. Then to a fab literary salon at the Kings Cross hotel. Another uber sexy place - god I really must get out more - to see Lynne Barber talk about her latest book and David Nicholls read from his. I went with two buddies who had never met each other - and it was a blast. One friend bought me her book 'An Education' and she inscribed with Happy Birthday. I'm a fan of her interviews - not least because her late husband was my favourite lecturer at Uni. Anyway, we sank red wine, envied David Nicholls ability to write awkward moments SO brilliantly as he read from his soon to be published book 'Us' and lounged around the swanky interiors. All in all an ACE birthday. Then I raced home, whereupon I drank more red with my 21 year old babysitter and talked over her boy troubles. It made me momentarily grateful to have turned 41...
The sunny week ended with us all departing on the Eurostar to gay Pareee for a blissful few days. My friend's Dad has a french country house that we went to stay in, after a day strolling around Paris and taking my son up the Eiffel tower. Sproglette wasn't so jazzed on the whole Eiffel tower malarkey - instead loving a rather shiny dolphin balloon... Anyway, the house was beyond beautiful - all rustic open stone walls and wooden beams... filled with wine and cheese (obvs) and great chat. And a pinball machine. We all became insanely competitive at table tennis, supped champagne every night before dinner and talked until the week hours over manys a bottle of red and er... bourbon. It was heaven. And now I am home. Birthday done, nights out all done, Easter break all done. All is left is for me to keep munching on the kids' choc eggs...
Still, it was a good run while it lasted.
One big merry-go-round of nights out, birthday celebrations and then topped off with a blissful trip to Paris. It began a few weeks back - the week after my 'Grappa man' night out as it shall be known. (Though let's not bring that up again as Husband still frets over it and let sleeping dogs lie and all that...). I headed out on the Wed night to a gig with a good friend. Work obligations - and an early start the next day kept me from my usual drinking antics, so a few simple beers and much merriment enjoying Matt Berry's band in Islington, and I was on the train home.
That Friday I reached the epitome of being deeply uncool - and threw myself into a night of audience participation at 'Sing-a-long-a-Purple-Rain.' It was hilarious. The film itself is beyond woeful - 30 years on, and you see how dreadfully sexiest it is (Appollonia wearing not very much to sing Sex Shooter being the low point) and that 'the Kid' is basically a wife-bashing arrogant little prick who kisses like he is resuscitating someone. But... the songs. They are as fresh as when I heard Let's go Crazy on a tinny radio back in 1984. What shocked me, was the theatre was packed with folk who weren't BORN when Purple Rain first hit the flicks. There were jump cuts, it crackled and the dialogue was sphincter clenching stuff - but we were all on our feet waving our hands to Purple Rain at the end. If there is any way way to have more fun - I have yet to find it.
Saturday night and a different spectrum of culture. Having never been to the ballet - my good mate Sam bought us tickets to A Winter's Tale at the Royal Opera House. It was breath taking - from the magnificent Opera House and it's uber sexy bar (s) to the mesmerising ballet itself. Just beautiful. I am officially a convert. Opera you can take, but a ballet - ahhhh... just stunning. I wish I had a waist the size of those spritely nymphs. How they cavorted around a stage for as long as they did, without collapsing in a sweaty coma, I have no idea.
Monday, was my birthday and once again from high culture to low - all spectrums were covered. After heading out for family cake (usual bedlam with Sproglette covering Sproglet in orange juice, Husband being mortified and me desperately trying to clean the place up) I took the kids to see the latest Muppet Movie. Meh. Then to a fab literary salon at the Kings Cross hotel. Another uber sexy place - god I really must get out more - to see Lynne Barber talk about her latest book and David Nicholls read from his. I went with two buddies who had never met each other - and it was a blast. One friend bought me her book 'An Education' and she inscribed with Happy Birthday. I'm a fan of her interviews - not least because her late husband was my favourite lecturer at Uni. Anyway, we sank red wine, envied David Nicholls ability to write awkward moments SO brilliantly as he read from his soon to be published book 'Us' and lounged around the swanky interiors. All in all an ACE birthday. Then I raced home, whereupon I drank more red with my 21 year old babysitter and talked over her boy troubles. It made me momentarily grateful to have turned 41...
The sunny week ended with us all departing on the Eurostar to gay Pareee for a blissful few days. My friend's Dad has a french country house that we went to stay in, after a day strolling around Paris and taking my son up the Eiffel tower. Sproglette wasn't so jazzed on the whole Eiffel tower malarkey - instead loving a rather shiny dolphin balloon... Anyway, the house was beyond beautiful - all rustic open stone walls and wooden beams... filled with wine and cheese (obvs) and great chat. And a pinball machine. We all became insanely competitive at table tennis, supped champagne every night before dinner and talked until the week hours over manys a bottle of red and er... bourbon. It was heaven. And now I am home. Birthday done, nights out all done, Easter break all done. All is left is for me to keep munching on the kids' choc eggs...
Still, it was a good run while it lasted.
1 comment:
Happy Birthday!
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