Ice, ice, maybe

Emerging from my Decleor facial around 10 blackheads lighter, I feel my efforts on the ice should have been more aerodynamic. Alas, I was in fact pish.

Mog and I went along to Murrayfield to hook up with Katie/Cate and her friend Helen for a spot of ice skating. I hadn't been skating since I was 13 and a horrible boy called Scott followed me into the girls' toilets to try to persuade me to take my jeans off. Just in case you're thinking he might have actually been a nice boy who was really trying to aid me with any basic toilet skills I may have been lacking, his motives really weren't that altruistic. Anyway, it soooo didn't happen for him.

Miss Mog and I checked in our shoes and were duly given the familiar Commie-issue boots avec blade. While the murky blue colour was no surprise, I had forgotten just how heavy those things were. It was akin to having a couple of 1970's Volvos wrapped round your feet, in that they were that shade of blue, ridiculously heavy, inexcusably ugly and there wasn't a snowball's chance in Hades that you could make anything resembling a turn sans power steering.

Mog had informed me that she was the 'best in class' and was rather shocked upon discovering that she was actually a bit crap at it now. Mog moved stiffly and tentatively; like someone regaining the use of their legs after many years in traction. "Fuck!" she exclaimed, "I can't believe how pish I am at this."

I skated around for a couple of laps; far too fast, I might add, given my obvious lack of skill. I knocked over two men (neither good-looking enough to warrant further discussion here), three couples-in-love (they deserved it!) and kept getting stuck behind very small children and having to touch them so they'd move out of the way. The previous two confessions rendered me the most annoying person on the ice, while the latter just made me look like some sad, would-be kiddy-snatcher.

My feet started to ache after 25 minutes and two minutes after that I realised I had a whopping blister on each foot. I limped off to sit in the stand with the sick and the housebound and was somewhat pleased when Mog joined me moments later. I say 'somewhat' because it was actually very amusing watching the look of concentration and dismay on her face as she jerked her way round the rink.

We decided we would be as well subjecting ourselves to the full experience and opted next for slush-puppies in the cafe. It was one of those eateries which serves food and drink in primary colours only. For anyone who has not had a slush-puppy in years, I'd like to point out that they still lose their flavour a quarter of the way in and, our parents were right, they are a COMPLETE WASTE OF MONEY!

We queued to get our shoes back and my socks got wet in the changeover. Afterwards, Mog and I decided to go to the travel agents and look into booking our luxury spa holiday in the Far East. Somehow, I think that's more our style.