Dinner with Katie last Saturday didn't go quite to plan. I'd arranged to go through to Glasgow and stay over at hers. When I called on Saturday morning, Katie was suffering the after effects of a photographers' bash the night before. I offered to bring through some quality food and cook it. Katie sounded both pleased and relieved when she said "Thanks, Lisa."
I headed off to Real Foods to stock up on the various seeds and oils not abundant in my diet. The herbalist had recommended I swap regular tea for nettle tea. I told her there was no chance of me doing that. She laughed and agreed nettle tea was definitely an acquired taste. I left the store weighed down with bags of pumpkin seeds, linseeds, flax seed oil, and porridge oats, and went to meet my mum in John Lewis.
The plan had been to get some food from M&S and get over to Glasgow in time to watch Strictly Come Dancing. It was now an hour before the programme was to start and I still hadn't been to M&S. I told my mum I'd take the car rather than the train because I was going to be late. I stopped back at the flat to pick up a bottle of Vive Cliquot I'd bagged with 40% off at Thresher, and the car.
As I was driving out past the airport on my way to join the M8, I stopped at some traffic lights. It looked as if there was steam coming out of the bonnet. I rationalised that this was probably just due to the heat of the engine in relation to the cold air outside - like being able to see your breath on cold mornings. I drove on.
About a minute later, the car started to make a weird noise when I pushed down on the accelerator. I knew this wasn't good. I then clocked the temperature guage and noticed it was at boiling point (the temperature guage has never worked and normally sits firmly at freezing point so I never have cause to pay it any attention). Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I'd just started on the M8 so I swung my car over towards the sliproad at Hermiston Gate. I was losing power, steam was definitely rising from the bonnet and the car was crying out. Then it just died, and I drifted to the edge of the road - about half way up the slip road.
The amount of steam now had me convinced that the car was going to blow up at any second, so I got out. And I had absolutely no idea what to do next. All I knew was that I wasn't a member of the AA or the RAC.
I'd like to point out that I'm in no way a pathetic or stupid girl, and I can change a tyre in 25 minutes. But I honestly didn't know what to do. So I called my mum. She didn't answer. I phoned my Granddad. He didn't answer. I phoned my uncle Sean - no answer. I called my brother. Thankfully he did answer. He told me he was in the pub and couldn't come to get me. I explained that I wasn't expecting anyone to come across to get me, I just wasn't clued up on breakdown etiquette. He asked me a few questions and I mentioned that there hadn't been any hot air coming from the blower. "You've got no water, you muppet." Liam said he'd keep trying to call mum for me.
Then my uncle Sean phoned back. I told him my story and he said: "You've blown your enginge. You'll need to get the car towed." I was absolutely freezing so I got back in the car. I called Katie and explained the situation and told her I still planned to get there.
Just at that, the police pulled up behind me. "Have you called anyone?", the policeman asked. "I phoned my mum." "Is she a mechanic like?", he laughed. "No, but she knows ... stuff," I said, a bit sheepishly.
They explained that they had to get my car over to the hard shoulder and pushed it across the road. They asked if I wanted to wait in their car and won me over with the mention of a working heater.
Because I was a 'code 25', officers Davie & Mark waited with me until the tow truck arrived. They were really helpful and talked me through what I should do if I find myself in a similar situation in future. They were so nice and friendly that I had to forgive them for playing back the video footage of me leaving my car so they could laugh at my red wellies.
The tow truck arrived and the police drove me back to Haymarket station just in time for the 9:04pm train to Queen Street.
Katie picked me up at the other end and we sat down to dinner at 10pm. I popped the cork on the champagne, saying that life was too short not to have champagne on a Saturday night. We toasted to: "making it against the odds", "crazy flatmates and not having to live with them" and "great friendships second time around."
It was worth the hassle.
Showing posts with label Katie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Katie. Show all posts
Monday, December 11, 2006
Friday, October 20, 2006
It's my birthday and I'll lie if I want to
Today I turned 27 - nothing spectacular as ages go. It was a very, very lovely birthday though. I had a fair few cards to open. Mog had already gifted me with a beautiful baby blue leather toiletries bag from Crabtree & Evelyn the night before. I got a handful of congratulatory text messages and my Grandad called to tell me he was coming over to Edinburgh to take me out for lunch.
I set off for work - looking mighty fine for a 27 year old (if I may say so myself). I stopped in at Tenkos to get some croissants and muffins for my team-mates. When I arrived, there was a card waiting for me - Little Miss Sunshine no less!
My Grandad had offered to take me to lunch at The Dome, but I find it overpriced for lunch and thought he'd really prefer my suggestion anyway. He did and so we headed to Monster Mash on Thistle Street. He stopped outside to read the menu and was loving those prices! He said he fancied the steak pie and I warned him that it was HUGE. "Ah, but this is my main meal of the day," he protested. Whatever, it was his call. The steak pie arrived. "Bloody hell, will you look at the size o' that? I'll never manage all that!" But he did. Unfortunately, he didn't have any room for the pudding he'd been eyeing up.
I headed back to work and did nothing for an hour and a half, then headed home at 4pm. I set about getting myself ready for my girls' night. Sinead pitched up with some beautiful flowers and a train station-rage story about a very rude man who had knocked her over and felt her wrath.
Leanne arrived at the door after spending some time in next door's stairwell. We all enjoyed a few glasses of syder brut - a very delicious and elegant cider. I was thrilled to open Leanne's present and find 'The Crimson Petal and the White' which I am dying to start reading. The Elizabeth Arden eight-hour cream will also come in very handy fighting the signs of aging I'm sure.
We took a cab to Gurkha Brigade because it was pouring down. Mog arrived seconds later. Katie had called to say she would be late. 40 minutes later she burst through the door looking every inch the drowned rat. It was the most dramatic entrance ever and met with laughter from us and most of the restaurant. A quick spruce up in the ladies room and she was back to her gorgeous self. We proceeded to have a rioutous night which mostly involved my friends taking the piss at my expense. Sinead told us about Betty the guide dog and her unfortunate accident in one of Fife Council's meeting rooms.
We headed on to City where Sinead had wangled us onto the guest list under an assumed name. It was all very exciting. It was plenty busy and Boogie & Dingo from Forth One were on the decks. We were all enjoying a boogie of our own when it occured to us that everyone else seemed really young. A guy danced his way over and started giving me some chat. He looked young - really young. I asked him how old he was. 17 apparently!!! I told him I was old enough to be his mother. "That's stretching it a bit," Mog said. "Not if it were a Daily Record headline," I replied.
After about an hour and a half, (45 minutes of which was spent trying to get into the locked room with the seats), we all admitted to feeling a bit too old and headed back to mine for a cup of tea.
We put Katie in the Mastermind chair and 'cubed' her. The results were interesting.
All in all, it turned out to be quite a spectacular birthday. 27 feels right.
I set off for work - looking mighty fine for a 27 year old (if I may say so myself). I stopped in at Tenkos to get some croissants and muffins for my team-mates. When I arrived, there was a card waiting for me - Little Miss Sunshine no less!
My Grandad had offered to take me to lunch at The Dome, but I find it overpriced for lunch and thought he'd really prefer my suggestion anyway. He did and so we headed to Monster Mash on Thistle Street. He stopped outside to read the menu and was loving those prices! He said he fancied the steak pie and I warned him that it was HUGE. "Ah, but this is my main meal of the day," he protested. Whatever, it was his call. The steak pie arrived. "Bloody hell, will you look at the size o' that? I'll never manage all that!" But he did. Unfortunately, he didn't have any room for the pudding he'd been eyeing up.
I headed back to work and did nothing for an hour and a half, then headed home at 4pm. I set about getting myself ready for my girls' night. Sinead pitched up with some beautiful flowers and a train station-rage story about a very rude man who had knocked her over and felt her wrath.
Leanne arrived at the door after spending some time in next door's stairwell. We all enjoyed a few glasses of syder brut - a very delicious and elegant cider. I was thrilled to open Leanne's present and find 'The Crimson Petal and the White' which I am dying to start reading. The Elizabeth Arden eight-hour cream will also come in very handy fighting the signs of aging I'm sure.
We took a cab to Gurkha Brigade because it was pouring down. Mog arrived seconds later. Katie had called to say she would be late. 40 minutes later she burst through the door looking every inch the drowned rat. It was the most dramatic entrance ever and met with laughter from us and most of the restaurant. A quick spruce up in the ladies room and she was back to her gorgeous self. We proceeded to have a rioutous night which mostly involved my friends taking the piss at my expense. Sinead told us about Betty the guide dog and her unfortunate accident in one of Fife Council's meeting rooms.
We headed on to City where Sinead had wangled us onto the guest list under an assumed name. It was all very exciting. It was plenty busy and Boogie & Dingo from Forth One were on the decks. We were all enjoying a boogie of our own when it occured to us that everyone else seemed really young. A guy danced his way over and started giving me some chat. He looked young - really young. I asked him how old he was. 17 apparently!!! I told him I was old enough to be his mother. "That's stretching it a bit," Mog said. "Not if it were a Daily Record headline," I replied.
After about an hour and a half, (45 minutes of which was spent trying to get into the locked room with the seats), we all admitted to feeling a bit too old and headed back to mine for a cup of tea.
We put Katie in the Mastermind chair and 'cubed' her. The results were interesting.
All in all, it turned out to be quite a spectacular birthday. 27 feels right.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Lesbian, Prostitute or Lesbian Prostitute?
Ah le weekend! It came with a huge sigh of relief and a good deal of anticipation.
Departure Lounge had been in the diary for some weeks and Kerry's Caribbean party had been in for even longer. I left work early on Friday and spent a long time pampering myself and getting ready. I wanted to make an effort for Departure Lounge and decided to liven up my outfit just a tad. It was a black t-shirt with an open back so I decided to wear it back-to-front - as you do. For a splash of colour (and, mostly, to cover my bra) I wrapped a blue/green/yellow scarf around my breasts. I was pleased with the look and set off for The Scotsman hotel to meet Katie.
I walked into the North Bridge Brasserie and everybody stared. While my attire was perfectly acceptable for a Departure Lounge party girl, I looked a bit too much like a working girl for The Scotsman. It was 2For 1 on champagne cocktails so I took the liberty of ordering raspberry bellinis. Katie showed up and we filled each other in on recent events. We headed down to the Ladies' room before we left, where Katie told me the most outrageous feminine hygiene story I've ever heard.
At The Caves, we were duly stamped with the word 'entered' on our wrists, given some balloons and headed upstairs for a gin & tonic. Not long after, Lawrence and his friend Dave showed up. We got stuck in about the Sambuca and I confided in Katie that I was "totally pished". Downstairs, I got my groove back and shook it on the dancefloor. My top started to slide down to reveal my bra - not a good look. I discreetly managed to fix it and continued to dance whilst holding it in place. Unfortunately, my jeans are a little too big and they ended up halfway down my arse - an even worse look. Hey ho! It was still a great night.
Outside, Katie and I disuaded some Danish tourists from wasting their time and headed off with Lawrence, Dave and Marc for a game of golf in some secret gardens. We waited until 4.30am for it to get a bit lighter and crept into the walled garden. It was one of the coolest places I've ever been. It was massive and had spectacular views to Arthur's Seat. The early morning mist only made it more romantic. I'm so getting myself a key for that place one day.
I got back to my flat around 6am and slept until 8.45am when Kelly collected me to play in a hockey tournament. It was not one of my better performances and I collapsed into bed on getting back to my flat.
Kerry's Caribbean party was kicking off at 3.30pm, which was now an hour ago, and I still had to make my outfit. I scooped out a pineapple and made it into a bikini top. I then used the top of the pineapple as a hat. How cute! Sinead called to find out where the hell I was. I explained that I'd been playing golf until 6am and then played in a hockey tournament at 9am, so was understandably knackered.
I arrived at Kerry's at 6.30pm, to a full swing calypso. The place looked great and everyone had made a big effort with the dressing up. Katie showed up as a treasure chest, which Sinead remarked was "very lateral". Kerry asked if it was true that I'd been playing golf and hockey. I said that it was, to which she replied "What? Like a big lesbian?" The music was great, the cocktails were like rocket-fuel and the chat had everybody rolling on the floor.
I spent Sunday at my parents' place. It was really, really nice. We took a walk to the fruit farm, got some gorgeous raspberries and strawberries, had some ice cream in the sun and walked home again. My dad was on really good form, which I was glad about after last Thursday's lock-out episode. I fell asleep outside in the sun for a bit and then we headed out for dinner.
All in all, it was a fantastic weekend, but I think I need an extended rest to recover.
Departure Lounge had been in the diary for some weeks and Kerry's Caribbean party had been in for even longer. I left work early on Friday and spent a long time pampering myself and getting ready. I wanted to make an effort for Departure Lounge and decided to liven up my outfit just a tad. It was a black t-shirt with an open back so I decided to wear it back-to-front - as you do. For a splash of colour (and, mostly, to cover my bra) I wrapped a blue/green/yellow scarf around my breasts. I was pleased with the look and set off for The Scotsman hotel to meet Katie.
I walked into the North Bridge Brasserie and everybody stared. While my attire was perfectly acceptable for a Departure Lounge party girl, I looked a bit too much like a working girl for The Scotsman. It was 2For 1 on champagne cocktails so I took the liberty of ordering raspberry bellinis. Katie showed up and we filled each other in on recent events. We headed down to the Ladies' room before we left, where Katie told me the most outrageous feminine hygiene story I've ever heard.
At The Caves, we were duly stamped with the word 'entered' on our wrists, given some balloons and headed upstairs for a gin & tonic. Not long after, Lawrence and his friend Dave showed up. We got stuck in about the Sambuca and I confided in Katie that I was "totally pished". Downstairs, I got my groove back and shook it on the dancefloor. My top started to slide down to reveal my bra - not a good look. I discreetly managed to fix it and continued to dance whilst holding it in place. Unfortunately, my jeans are a little too big and they ended up halfway down my arse - an even worse look. Hey ho! It was still a great night.
Outside, Katie and I disuaded some Danish tourists from wasting their time and headed off with Lawrence, Dave and Marc for a game of golf in some secret gardens. We waited until 4.30am for it to get a bit lighter and crept into the walled garden. It was one of the coolest places I've ever been. It was massive and had spectacular views to Arthur's Seat. The early morning mist only made it more romantic. I'm so getting myself a key for that place one day.
I got back to my flat around 6am and slept until 8.45am when Kelly collected me to play in a hockey tournament. It was not one of my better performances and I collapsed into bed on getting back to my flat.
Kerry's Caribbean party was kicking off at 3.30pm, which was now an hour ago, and I still had to make my outfit. I scooped out a pineapple and made it into a bikini top. I then used the top of the pineapple as a hat. How cute! Sinead called to find out where the hell I was. I explained that I'd been playing golf until 6am and then played in a hockey tournament at 9am, so was understandably knackered.
I arrived at Kerry's at 6.30pm, to a full swing calypso. The place looked great and everyone had made a big effort with the dressing up. Katie showed up as a treasure chest, which Sinead remarked was "very lateral". Kerry asked if it was true that I'd been playing golf and hockey. I said that it was, to which she replied "What? Like a big lesbian?" The music was great, the cocktails were like rocket-fuel and the chat had everybody rolling on the floor.
I spent Sunday at my parents' place. It was really, really nice. We took a walk to the fruit farm, got some gorgeous raspberries and strawberries, had some ice cream in the sun and walked home again. My dad was on really good form, which I was glad about after last Thursday's lock-out episode. I fell asleep outside in the sun for a bit and then we headed out for dinner.
All in all, it was a fantastic weekend, but I think I need an extended rest to recover.
Monday, May 01, 2006
'Two shags'
is what John Prescott has been re-christened following the revelation of his two-year affair. This was one of two things that made me laugh out loud this week. The other was a Chinese takeaway menu that landed on the carpet beneath my letterbox on Saturday morning. Alongside the always amusing photographs of extravagantly yet unappetisingly displayed food (when was the last time your chow mein arrived in half a pineapple? And would you ever want it to?) were the words 'Alcoholic Takeaway' - brilliant. "I'll have one jakey in stained clothes and two neds 'oot their heids' on buckie please."
Following on from Jeff & Dev's Sunday lunch, Keith & Ashley hosted us last Sabbath day. Dinner was delicious and dessert was the most amazing banoffee pie I've ever tasted. My enthusiatic critique caught Keith's attention and he spent the duration of dessert apologising for his inappropriate comment. It really was good pie though.
Another heavenly pudding was sampled on Thursday night at
Black Bo's with Leanne. It was chocolate and chilli brownie with vanilla and hazelnut ice cream. Oh, it was class. Catching up with Leanne is always good. Whereas I give advice by way of endless analogy, Leanne can put things immediately in perspective with one sentence; and it's never a patronising one either. I don't know why, but I'm always surprised when my friends say something that makes clear just how well they really know me. It was like this with Leanne on Thursday when she said: "I don't think you'll get any answers from it. In fact, I think it'll do you more harm than good. But I know you're still going to do it anyway." Bang on the money.
I had a half day at work on Friday and took myself off to the gym at 1pm. I feel compelled to go every day since the instructor assessed my body fat situation and looked like she was amazed I'd managed to squeeze out the door of my flat. Needless to say, I could hardly move for the first four hours on Saturday morning (this was made worse by another visit to the gym). Mog and I had lunch in the sunshine followed by a big ice cream and a little walk.
At 7pm we caught the train through to Glasgow to celebrate Katie's birthday. It was a most ambient affair with generous helpings of curry and an excellent crowd. Around Midnight, we headed, quite literally, round the corner to a club. We walked straight in - sans entrance fee - and proceeded to have a cracking time. A night in da club wouldn't be the same for Katie and I without at least one dance-off. This time the tune was 'Don't cha' by the Pussycat Dolls and my demure wrist-flick sent someone's bottle of beer raining across the dance floor. Bonus points.
We headed home around 3am and Mog and I headed straight to bed. I was truly knackered and my muscles were truly aching by this point. The rest of the party stayed up chatting until 6 or so which meant Mog and I were annoyingly bushy-tailed the next morning. A truly scrumptious brunch of French Toast, bacon and Maple syrup was scoffed before Mog and I caught the train home.
Good times.
Following on from Jeff & Dev's Sunday lunch, Keith & Ashley hosted us last Sabbath day. Dinner was delicious and dessert was the most amazing banoffee pie I've ever tasted. My enthusiatic critique caught Keith's attention and he spent the duration of dessert apologising for his inappropriate comment. It really was good pie though.
Another heavenly pudding was sampled on Thursday night at
Black Bo's with Leanne. It was chocolate and chilli brownie with vanilla and hazelnut ice cream. Oh, it was class. Catching up with Leanne is always good. Whereas I give advice by way of endless analogy, Leanne can put things immediately in perspective with one sentence; and it's never a patronising one either. I don't know why, but I'm always surprised when my friends say something that makes clear just how well they really know me. It was like this with Leanne on Thursday when she said: "I don't think you'll get any answers from it. In fact, I think it'll do you more harm than good. But I know you're still going to do it anyway." Bang on the money.
I had a half day at work on Friday and took myself off to the gym at 1pm. I feel compelled to go every day since the instructor assessed my body fat situation and looked like she was amazed I'd managed to squeeze out the door of my flat. Needless to say, I could hardly move for the first four hours on Saturday morning (this was made worse by another visit to the gym). Mog and I had lunch in the sunshine followed by a big ice cream and a little walk.
At 7pm we caught the train through to Glasgow to celebrate Katie's birthday. It was a most ambient affair with generous helpings of curry and an excellent crowd. Around Midnight, we headed, quite literally, round the corner to a club. We walked straight in - sans entrance fee - and proceeded to have a cracking time. A night in da club wouldn't be the same for Katie and I without at least one dance-off. This time the tune was 'Don't cha' by the Pussycat Dolls and my demure wrist-flick sent someone's bottle of beer raining across the dance floor. Bonus points.
We headed home around 3am and Mog and I headed straight to bed. I was truly knackered and my muscles were truly aching by this point. The rest of the party stayed up chatting until 6 or so which meant Mog and I were annoyingly bushy-tailed the next morning. A truly scrumptious brunch of French Toast, bacon and Maple syrup was scoffed before Mog and I caught the train home.
Good times.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Ask and you will receive
What an unexpectedly fab weekend!
Once upon a time, I dreamt of a more interesting life. In recent months this has been working out nicely. My life seems to have fallen into a pattern whereby I am booked up every night of the week and totally 'free' at weekends. You'd think this might make my weekends a little dull and boring, but it's just the opposite. What usually happens is that on Friday night I get at least one call to say "well do you, do you, do you, do you wanna go ...". The offer usually involves alcohol and chat, so I tend to 'wanna go' more often than not. On Saturdays, I get to the gym before heading off with the Economist (that's the paper rather than Gordon Brown or someone of a similar ilk) for a few coffees.
This Friday I called my mum; who told me that she and my dad were coming over to see me on Saturday afternoon. I was most pleased about this as I have some trousers that need to be re-hemmed and some bed covers that could do with an iron. I also enjoy my parents' company. After that I called my Gran to wish her a happy holiday; she's off to Zambia for a month. By the time I got off the phone it was rather late, so I decided not to go out and opted instead to purge my wardrobe of clothes that were a)too big, b) far too small, c) hideous (and, thank God, unworn) and d) the wrong colour. This stems from the fact that I had a colour consultation last week during which I was told that I am light, cool and apparently sporting the wrong hair colour. Having just spent a small fortune having my hair done the week before, this isn't what I wanted to hear.
On Saturday I was waiting for my parents when I realised I had managed to read the Economist cover to cover. It followed that I had been there for quite some time. I called my mum to find out where the hell they were, only to have her tell me that they'd been diverted at the Forth Road Bridge and were on their way to Kincardine. Why didn't she call me to let me know you may ask? Alas, she had no credit in her phone. This is a regular thing. I refused to get annoyed and stemmed any rumblings of rage with a trip to Harvey Nick's where I bought a new perfume.
After an enjoyable (and rather hilarious) dinner with my parents, I bumped into Keith, then Jeff, then Sam, then Katie. They were all on their way to the Blind Poet to drink to Jeff's birthday and asked if I wanted to head along. I promptly did so and had a rather excellent time chatting, drinking and arm-wrestling.
I got to bed around 4am. Mog sent a text at 8am asking if I fancied doing something. I begged off until noon and we ended up going on a little jaunt to North Berwick (oooh, how elderly). We consumed copious amounts of food, bought some sweeties and had a walk along the beach before driving back home. An already fab weekend became fabber still when my Grandad called to 'give' me a car; a decent one with a year's road tax and MOT.
Sometimes life really does work out just as you'd imagined; sometimes it's even better.
Once upon a time, I dreamt of a more interesting life. In recent months this has been working out nicely. My life seems to have fallen into a pattern whereby I am booked up every night of the week and totally 'free' at weekends. You'd think this might make my weekends a little dull and boring, but it's just the opposite. What usually happens is that on Friday night I get at least one call to say "well do you, do you, do you, do you wanna go ...". The offer usually involves alcohol and chat, so I tend to 'wanna go' more often than not. On Saturdays, I get to the gym before heading off with the Economist (that's the paper rather than Gordon Brown or someone of a similar ilk) for a few coffees.
This Friday I called my mum; who told me that she and my dad were coming over to see me on Saturday afternoon. I was most pleased about this as I have some trousers that need to be re-hemmed and some bed covers that could do with an iron. I also enjoy my parents' company. After that I called my Gran to wish her a happy holiday; she's off to Zambia for a month. By the time I got off the phone it was rather late, so I decided not to go out and opted instead to purge my wardrobe of clothes that were a)too big, b) far too small, c) hideous (and, thank God, unworn) and d) the wrong colour. This stems from the fact that I had a colour consultation last week during which I was told that I am light, cool and apparently sporting the wrong hair colour. Having just spent a small fortune having my hair done the week before, this isn't what I wanted to hear.
On Saturday I was waiting for my parents when I realised I had managed to read the Economist cover to cover. It followed that I had been there for quite some time. I called my mum to find out where the hell they were, only to have her tell me that they'd been diverted at the Forth Road Bridge and were on their way to Kincardine. Why didn't she call me to let me know you may ask? Alas, she had no credit in her phone. This is a regular thing. I refused to get annoyed and stemmed any rumblings of rage with a trip to Harvey Nick's where I bought a new perfume.
After an enjoyable (and rather hilarious) dinner with my parents, I bumped into Keith, then Jeff, then Sam, then Katie. They were all on their way to the Blind Poet to drink to Jeff's birthday and asked if I wanted to head along. I promptly did so and had a rather excellent time chatting, drinking and arm-wrestling.
I got to bed around 4am. Mog sent a text at 8am asking if I fancied doing something. I begged off until noon and we ended up going on a little jaunt to North Berwick (oooh, how elderly). We consumed copious amounts of food, bought some sweeties and had a walk along the beach before driving back home. An already fab weekend became fabber still when my Grandad called to 'give' me a car; a decent one with a year's road tax and MOT.
Sometimes life really does work out just as you'd imagined; sometimes it's even better.
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