Last night I made it out of the house for my first "big night" in over a year. Oh, it was such fun. Alice was suitably tired out from her gymberoo class (where she actually started to nod off during the band practice, while she was adroitly playing the triangle) and Stu made it home in good time to receive all the instructions for baby-sitting, so the scene was set.
I haven't even been in a taxi for at least 4 months so had completely forgotten how it all works (clue - had to direct the driver at every turn as usual - The Knowledge is an unknown concept here). Arrived at the pub (15 minutes early, as is my curse) and immediately felt too old, incorrectly dressed and as though everyone was looking at me and wondering what I was doing there. It turned out that I had walked into a private party so, in fact, they were doing just that. Went and hid in the bathroom for a bit, trying to remember how to apply lipstick and then skulked around the bar with a glass of rose. But - wha-hey - got a little bit chatted up at the bar. Oh yes, my friends, she's still got it.
After all that excitement and after letting the 25 year old at the bar down gently, (asking, "Would you like to see a photo of my baby?" works wonders), the night went on from there - 4 girls on the town with their babies safely tucked up at home with their daddies and we really had a lovely time. I say "out on the town" in the loosest sense of the word - we went for dinner and then remained sat at our table gossiping until we were thrown out of the White Horse when it closed. They had to pack up around us. However, we knew that we really were "out" when we schlepped down to Bar Cleveland.
All in all, a glass was broken, photos were taken (poor old wait staff had to sit through pictures of Alice on my camera before they were allowed to take them), and we laughed and laughed. Managed to stay out to the shamefully late time of 2am, which was very exciting. Not so much by 7.30am when Alice woke up.
Obviously, I have been carried away with this blog and think I'm Bill Bryson, as I decided to take notes of the evening to be able to write about it here. The saved message I found in my phone read, "Trendy, too old, private party, wet! Man at bar, dog tags wail, real friends, cabbie lost!" Make of that what you will. The really shameful thing is that after a year of sobriety just a couple of glasses of wine and some pre-expressed milk. Roll on dinner at Balzac in two weeks with Auntie Cate and then, after that, I'll be staying home for a good few months.
I haven't even been in a taxi for at least 4 months so had completely forgotten how it all works (clue - had to direct the driver at every turn as usual - The Knowledge is an unknown concept here). Arrived at the pub (15 minutes early, as is my curse) and immediately felt too old, incorrectly dressed and as though everyone was looking at me and wondering what I was doing there. It turned out that I had walked into a private party so, in fact, they were doing just that. Went and hid in the bathroom for a bit, trying to remember how to apply lipstick and then skulked around the bar with a glass of rose. But - wha-hey - got a little bit chatted up at the bar. Oh yes, my friends, she's still got it.
After all that excitement and after letting the 25 year old at the bar down gently, (asking, "Would you like to see a photo of my baby?" works wonders), the night went on from there - 4 girls on the town with their babies safely tucked up at home with their daddies and we really had a lovely time. I say "out on the town" in the loosest sense of the word - we went for dinner and then remained sat at our table gossiping until we were thrown out of the White Horse when it closed. They had to pack up around us. However, we knew that we really were "out" when we schlepped down to Bar Cleveland.
All in all, a glass was broken, photos were taken (poor old wait staff had to sit through pictures of Alice on my camera before they were allowed to take them), and we laughed and laughed. Managed to stay out to the shamefully late time of 2am, which was very exciting. Not so much by 7.30am when Alice woke up.
Obviously, I have been carried away with this blog and think I'm Bill Bryson, as I decided to take notes of the evening to be able to write about it here. The saved message I found in my phone read, "Trendy, too old, private party, wet! Man at bar, dog tags wail, real friends, cabbie lost!" Make of that what you will. The really shameful thing is that after a year of sobriety just a couple of glasses of wine and some pre-expressed milk. Roll on dinner at Balzac in two weeks with Auntie Cate and then, after that, I'll be staying home for a good few months.
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