Ice Ice Baby

I didn’t go to the cinema on Friday night as I had felt very ill all day, sort of headachey and faint and weak, kind of like I do in the aftermath of a migraine, only I hadn’t had a migraine. So I went home to bed instead. Humph. I have been feeling a lot better and like I am (touch wood) now over my stupid cold. Thank God. That has to be the longest cold I have ever had. Although I do still have lovely growths on my tonsils that are annoying but not causing me pain. I’m hoping they will go away soon too.

Today I went ice skating at the O2. It’s an Ice Disco. Oooh. I got all kitted up with my gloves and scarf and extra thick socks. (Though it was really hot and I ended up stripping off all the extra layers anyway.) And you know what? I didn’t fall down once! Not once! (I might have considered it had any of the Ice Marshalls been cute, but sadly no.) I mean, I had a couple of close calls, mostly because kids would veer in front of me with no warning and I’d have to change course. I did still end up being in pain though. It is most likely because I never wear heels and so my feet are very flat and not at all used to having to be forced into an arch for extended periods of time. Oh. My. God. It was so bloody painful. It was like having continuous cramp in my arches. I had to keep stopping because I just could not go on (so dramatic). Sigh. But it was grand and I didn’t spend all my time clutching the side with all my might. I went in the middle. Yay me.

There was also the usual kid (rather rotund) who decided he MUST skate in the middle, even though he could barely stand. So he fell so much that the Ice Marshall was basically following him around and the last time I saw him he was being led off the ice in tears.

Afterwards we went to Frankie & Benny’s for something to eat and I stuffed my face on Brownies and ice-cream. Yummy. And now I am at home and quite tired so I am going to watch The Long Way Down (Mmmm Ewan) and have a cup of tea and pretend I don’t have to get up and go to work in the morning.

Saturday

Last night I went out for Rob’s birthday dinner. We went to the Big Easy again in Chelsea. I went to see Peps first as I has been instructed to look nice and that sort of thing always sets me into a bit of panic. I own about two ‘nice’ tops, both of which are several years old and have been worn once. Plus she said she’d do my make-up as we had to make an effort and, well, act grown up. Plus there might have been boys there. Damn. No amount of make-up is going to make me feel like a grown up. However, she did make me look very nice. Unfortunately I still didn’t feel very pretty seeing as I have two huge red spots on my chin.

(Sidebar: Am I ever going to get to an age where I don’t have spots anymore? You go around for, what, the first twelve years of you life?, not remotely concerned about hormones or any such nonsense, and barely remembering to wash, and then BAM! It all hits. So am I going to have to worry about spots when I’m 80? Not only will I have wrinkles and grandma chin hair and most likely boils of some sort, I’ll have spots too? Hardly seems fair now does it?)

Anyway, off we went, battling through the damn crowds at Green Park and walking for an age from South Kensington seeing as there were no cabs about. But we made it. I have to say that the service at the Big Easy wasn’t anywhere near as good as last time. I know it was a Saturday night but god we waited ages for our mains. And they were wanting to move us along quickly to free up the table. Dave managed to sweet talk the manager into putting the rugby on (for those in our party who cared about such things), so off went American Football. I have no interest in sports whatsoever. Honestly, I just could not care less. So when the boys came on I went through the line up looking for an attractive man I could root for. (This is how I used to get through the Arsenal matches I was forced to watch. Thierry Henry all the way baby.) The one I picked was vetoed by Peps for being a born again Christian with five kids. So I looked on and, I’m afraid to say, slim pickings on the England side. I figured, let’s have a little look at the French. They may have lost the game but they win in the looks stakes by far. There’s loads of em on that side! I went for Frederic Michalak. Mmmmm. Peps is in love with Sebastian Chabal. I just don’t see it myself…

Apparently it was very nail biting (as demonstrated by Dave) but we won. Yay! And all that jazz. Then the American Football went back on. I’m sorry, but that’s not a sport. It’s barely even a game. I tried twice while in the States to sit through one of those things and barely made it to half time at each. Four hours to play a 90 minute game. And only one guy is allowed to throw? What? And they all troop off and troop on again and play stops every two seconds while they sort themselves out. And some of those players can’t even be called athletes. They’re just big fat blokes. Their sole purpose is to smush the other team’s members. What a skill. Puh. The Americans can keep it thanks.

After that we went into Babushka (everyone sing Kate Bush with me now), which made me feel old. And then I trundled off home at a decent hour but could not get to sleep when my head hit the pillow. Gah! So now am tired and coldy feeling so let’s hope that goes away. Oh, and the chin? Still red and spotty. I am not a teenager damn it!!!

It’s Sunday, almost Monday, but it’s not Monday yet!

Ah Sundays. Such a great day and yet crappy all at the same time. At least on Saturdays you know you have one more day before work. One more lie-in. No such thing on Sundays. Monday is just there in the background all day, hanging over you, and it just keeps getting closer and closer until you just have to face facts that it’s coming whether you like it or not.

I went out last night with Dave and Rob. I can’t remember the last time I went out for drinks on a Saturday night. This is mostly because, as you may well know by now, I don’t drink, so going out watching other people getting drunk and acting fools is not much fun. However, going out to catch up with friends is something I am more than happy to do. We went to Camden. I don’t go there often, but at least you know you don’t have to dress up. It’s an odd place, I must say. Rob took us into what must be the most studenty bar I’ve ever been in, The Good Mixer. And full of people wearing weird hats, with bad facial hair and sunglasses, the unwashed look. (How old am I?) Also a fair few men just standing by themselves, staring glassy eyed into space. One such man came up to us and just stood, as if he was going to say something, but never did, as if he was one of our group. And then he wandered off.

Dave tried to get me to go outside and stand for two minutes (he was actually going to time me) and see how many people came up to talk to me. I declined.

Then we went in search of a sit down (my old legs, you know), and went into another bar which was basically empty when we got there, so we got a couch and I drank an extortionately priced orange and lemonade with flat lemonade. Not sure what was going on with the music in that place, but either their stereo was broken or someone had a volume control problem. It was music music music MUSIC MUSIC music music…you get the idea here. And then a guy started playing the bongos, but really badly. He had no rhythm whatsoever.

But yeah, good fun was had. And now I’m being lazy and watching old episodes of Felicity (she’s still annoying) and Roswell, and waiting impatiently for someone to put the latest episode of CSI online. Come on internet geeks, don’t let me down!