My weekend officially started on Thursday evening, when I met the lovely Bernadette Strachan for drinks (champagne) and nibbles (meat and cheese) in a bar down Wardour Street way. I adore Bernie, and feel quite overwhelmed by the fact that I’ve become friends with someone whose books I love reading… Get me.
Friday night saw a Thai meal with The Mother, her two closest neighbours and one of their daughters – all of whom I have known all my life. Lovely evening, marred only slightly by my potty mouth (I don’t know what came over me) and one of the party feeling a bit down since her Work changed their pay day to the 6th of the month – meaning Christmas is officially cancelled in her house. Fucking bastards.
Saturday night I was invited to my lovely friend Peter’s Christmas party, which saw me and a gaggle of my old Big W friends devouring an amazing spread of cheese, chilli, sausages, mulled wine and Snowballs – whilst a gentlemen did fire juggling in the back garden. Lovely evening – marred again slightly though by the 2 hour trek home (due to some ridiculous earth slide or something cocking up the line in Croydon) and a speeding ticket – 3 points on his license and £60 fine - when Boo picked me up from the station. My name is, understandably, Mud.
Sunday I met The Mother for her pre-Christmas Christmas present – we had a nice lunch in Covent Garden and then went to see The Snow Queen at the London Coliseum. Absolutely amazing. When traditional ballet is done well, it can rival the visual spectacular of my favourite contemporary dance, and The Snow Queen was done very very well. Superb costumes, set, lighting, music – everything – made this a real feast for the eyes, and its great to see the ENB put on such an exhilarating new production.
Tonight I’ll be mostly trying to not show myself up at my New Work Christmas party. (Yes, on a blinking Monday…) I have heard speak of karaoke and dancing. I remember the last time I did karaoke. It was on a girls holiday in Portugal. I sang either a Beatles or Tom Jones song. Topless. Whilst (apparently) gazing into the eyes of an Icelandic body builder. Oh God.