I don't feel like dancing (yeah right!)

I was supposed to have Friday off work, but deadlines (and a grumpy boss) meant that I had to drag myself in. To make things worse, I've got myself involved in some sort of crazy crimping charity challenge. A few of my colleagues have pledged very sizeable amounts of cash to charity if I can convince 10 senior managers to sport crimps before Christmas. Badges saying "Nice bit of crimpette" are already in production. My usually robust confidence has deserted me, but I don't want to walk away from a challenge. What's a girl to do?

Saturday was Scissor Sisters day and we headed to Newcastle. I met Kerry and her colleagues Sam and Alysoun at 10am, and headed for the bus station. When the time came to board, we were met by two ex-bouncers who seemed to be pissed off that they were now driving the National Express up and down to Hull everyday. "Yougothotfidinair?" the fat one asked. To be honest, I wasn't sure if he was asking because I wasn't allowed hot food on the bus or because he wanted to eat it, but I was slightly offended. If the image I'm projecting is that of a girl carrying pies and pasties around in her bag then I've gone seriously wrong somewhere. "No", I managed, setting my job quite firmly. I then attempted to board the bus. "Yer bag goes in the hold hen." Clearly my (genuine) LV weekend bag was doing me no favours and I'd been identified as a chav. Kerry nudged me and started feigning shock "Don't you know who I am? This is an LV sweetie."

I decided to challenge them and said I'd really prefer to take my bag on board. "Naw hen. Bag goes in the hold. Ye ca be drinking alcohol on the coach." Fuck - now I look like a bucky swigging, pie guzzling schemie. Don't Louis Vuitton realise the hassle their luggage causes respectable passengers on the National Express? No, right enough, it is something of a contradiction in terms. The bus then started to fill up with genuine schemies and the drivers revelled in the opportunity to be bouncers once again. One guy was asked to get back off the bus, whereupon the drivers told him that he had to "get onto this bus like a human being and not an eejit". Kerry started laughing and remarked that it was like being on a school trip. "Do you know what would be great," I said. "What?" "If instead of a book and this week's Economist in my bag, I had a little stove and a wok. Why no Mr Bus Driver, I don't have any hot food - (aside) not yet anyway, mwahahaha!"

We got into Newcastle at 1pm and got settled into the Hotel - which meant that Kerry and I had a snooze and ignored Sam knocking at our room door.My new Decleor eye mask went down a treat. Whereas Sinead had previously told me to refrain from wearing eye masks when rooming with her ("I can't sleep when I know you're wearing that weirdo eye mask, it's freaking me out."), Kerry laughed and said: "Check you, Joan Collins!"

After consuming a bottle of wine with dinner and ordering about 10 taxis to take us to the arena, we were there. The French Maid sketch from Tittybangbang ('Don't look at me, I'm shy!) had caught on as a source of great hilarity in the group. We repeated ad nauseum in our merry state. Upon seeing large numbers of gay and lesbian couples in the foyer at the gig, I altered this to: "Don't look at me, I'm bisexual, lesbian or gay." Kerry was mortified. "Shhhhh!"

The show was great with an excellent finale of 'I Don't Feel Like Dancing' and 'Filthy Gorgeous.' The audience interaction was really good with lots of laughs - 'Laura' was dedicated to Laura Bush, and Ana Matronic wished every woman in the audience 45 minutes of uninterrupted cunnilingus. She wasn't clear about whether this was during the gig or afterwards, but I was touched by what I'm sure was a very genuine thought. And Jake was far too fanciable for very gay man. I'm beginning to worry about myself.

From the arena we took the slowest taxi ride ever to Buffalo Joe's. I wasn't expecting a great deal, but ended up having the best night out I've had in ages. The place was heaving, but there was plenty of bar staff. It was even better when four sexy half naked guys got up onto the bar and started dancing. I was shockingly thirsty and ordered the first soft drink I spied, which turned out to be 'Shark' energy drink. What the hey, it went down quickly and was very refreshing.

Upstairs there was enough room to dance. Dangerous given my penchant for shaking it all about, being merry from the wine and wired from the Shark. I went for it, unashamedly. Some people who were also dancing stopped to give me more space, then started cheering me on. Kerry and the others were bent double with laughter. At one point, a bald guy approached me. I stopped him short with one hand and said: "Don't look at me, I'm shy."

A little while later, a very nice Dubliner called Graham came over to tell me that I was "very, very lovely." He gave it a good go keeping up with me and didn't seem to be put off by my dancing like an absolute arse. If anything, he seemed to really like it. At about 01:30 we decided to head back to the hotel. Graham pleaded with me to stay and he made some excellent points in his argument. Alas, I decided it was not the night to claim Ana's kind wish for me.

Back in the room, Kerry and I chatted over our brilliant night. "When we come back next year, I bet they'll all be dancing like that," she laughed. I'd love to find out. Another trip is definitely on the cards for next year.

Teeth, hips and sips of tea

So it is true that the only thing harder to find these days than decent help is an NHS dentist.

My old dentist decided to go private so I found myself tasked with finding a replacement. I called NHS Direct and was given the number of a service which would list all the dentists in my area accepting NHS patients. There are, as it turns out, only three dentists in the 'Edinburgh area' who are willing to take on NHS patients; one in Morningside, one in Craigmillar and one in Portobello. As I don't consider Portobello to be in the 'Edinburgh area' and a visit to a Craigmillar dentist would probably result in my teeth being knocked out on the way, I opted for the dentist in Morningside. I made an appointment and took a bus out there in my lunch-hour. My dentist told me he'd been living in Marbella for the last eight years and had made a fortune, and that's why he was now offering NHS care; doing his bit for society and all that. It didn't stop him from trying to encourage me to opt for a few private treatments though!

At the risk of sounding a bit like 'Jen' of 'Jen & Gary' infamy, another task I found difficult and stressful was shopping with a baby and an 8-year old. It's not that I've ever looked on parenting as a walk in the park, it's just that seeing your university flat-mate doing it really puts things into perspective.

Leanne had told me some time ago that she could do with some new clothes, especially as she is returning to work following maternity leave. She admitted that six months of parenting had left her slightly overwhelmed by the prospect of clothes-shopping and I, in true Trinny&Susannah style, volunteered my fashionista services.

We finally got round to Leanne's shopping trip last Saturday. It was supposed to be just us, but then Craig was paintballing for his nephew's 21st birthday and couldn't look after Ella. Then Skye, Craig's 8-year old daughter, wanted to come with us too.

I met Leanne and the kids at the Gallery cafe. We started our shopping experience in Next. Right away, it was difficult navigating the shop floor with the buggy. Getting the buggy into the changing rooms was even more problematic. Skye was really well behaved, but - like any child - still needs to be listened to and interacted with. Ella is a superstar, but got a bit upset when she woke up. As a result, Leanne tried on items of clothing as quickly as she could, I held Ella and soothed her while offering feedback on Leanne's outfits, and we both tried our best to chat to Skye.

One shop down and Ella needed to be fed, watered and changed. We went to Debenhams cafe. Leanne and Ella took the elevator. Skye wanted to use the escalator, so I went with her. An hour later and we hit another shop. To save the effort of taking the buggy round, I did a quick reconnaissance of Per Una but found nothing doing.

Skye had been an angel, so Leanne agreed to take her to Jenners toy department. Once inside, I realised the time and hassle it would be for us to take Ella downstairs, so I offered to wait in the perfumery department with the buggy. Leanne was visibly relieved.

As I was walking around the store, I struggled to weave in and out of the displays and became convinced that I was going to knock everything over if I didn't get out NOW! I struggled to open the shop doors, struggled to get the buggy through, and, finally, struggled down the two front steps and into the sunshine.

Lastly, we ventured onto Dorothy Perkins, Principles and Top Shop - which is the least buggy-friendly shop in the world. (Strange considering it is the M&S of teenage mums.) The elevators were so old that I had to fight to get the buggy into the lift. By this point we were all tired, thirsty and hungry. I, in my non-mother state, suggested we go to Vin Caffe. This was a bad idea. There was no plain food that Skye liked. The tables were cramped and the toilets were all the way upstairs - sans baby-changing facilities - making it difficult for Leanne to change Ella.

By this time, Leanne had to be getting back to start Ella's bedtime routine. We said goodbye and Leanne almost wept with gratitude. After only a few hours as an extra pair of hands, I could see why. I now completely understand why some women give birth and then never ever want to leave the house again.

Saturday night, I headed out to Hendrick's to meet Mog and Kwan-Nga. Mog had invited us out to a football awards dinner that one of her colleagues was involved in. We went upstairs in the Golfe Tavern, to a room that smelt ominously of sweaty men, farts and chicken wings. In an effort to create some sort of air circulation, we danced solidly for the next three hours. Afterwards I began to fear my style of dancing might make me a prime candidate for a hip replacement in the not too distant future.

As we walked home, my hips, thighs and knees were all still singing. I think my problem is that I dance from the hips down, with all my movement concentrated in the thigh department (which, I know, sounds like some pretty weird dancing).

On Sunday morning I woke up, still aching and barely able to move, and thought "this is what Harrison Ford must feel like these days". I then realised I hadn't put my incontinence pants on and had to pull the emergency chord for help.

Andrew came to visit and we enjoyed a leisurely stroll along the Water of Leith, followed by a Peroni and a lemon sorbet in Pizza Express. I was thoroughly exhausted by the time Andrew left. Determined not to be thwarted in my bid for jogging-suit & DVD combo heaven this Sunday, I applied the jogging-suit, turned off both phones and flicked the buzzer to privacy.

I settled back on the sofa with a cup of tea. The window was open. I could hear the birds quietly chirping and nothing else. The sun was just starting to go down and the air was still. I took a sip of tea, let my head fall back against the sofa and almost had an orgasm from the sheer bliss of it all. I tried to imprint that moment into my memory.

I succeeded; in the short term at least, because I recaptured it at work on Monday morning and spent the rest of the day in afterglow.