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.
Showing posts with label tea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tea. Show all posts
Friday, October 20, 2006
Sunday, October 15, 2006
ok so, Hong Kong was good (Part 2)
I slid my fankled feet into a pair of flip flops and covered this monstrosity with a very long dress. What the hay! We dined at 'Dong' before heading down to the Peninsula Hotel to partake of a few champagne cocktails in the Felix bar. The place was uber-cool with amazing views across the harbour to Hong Kong Island.
On day 2, I tried my hand at haggling (though enjoyed more success when I communicated verbally). I went into a shop just off Nathan Road to get a memory stick for my camera. The over-zealous sales assistant told me I had "lovely temples". "Excuse me?" came my rather shocked response. "Your temples," he tried again, "are lovely. Beautiful temples. Very big." I was about to get up and leave when it dawned on me that he meant 'dimples'. "Aahh dimples!" I smiled back, "yes, thank you."
The dimples got me in trouble later that day when I made my perpetual mistake of smiling and saying hello to the wrong person, who then followed us around for about an hour and sat two rows behind us on the Star Ferry back to Kowloon.
High tea at the Peninsula Hotel was a wonderful treat. It was very old school with the waiting staff in colonial style uniforms. We partook of a lovely pot of Afternoon Tea and several fancies. My feet thanked me privately for the rest.
Day 3 was full-on and whatever love-fest my feet and I engaged in the previous day was gone. We visited the Bank of China tower, caught the tram up to the Peak, took a sangpang ride at Aberdeen Harbour. It was all very authentic and traditional, apart from the fact that the fisherman spent the majority of the time on his mobile phone. We caught the bus to the ferry terminal, took a tram to a temple, trampled along the world's longest sky-walk and stopped in at the museum of tea; where I learned about the ancient art of tea-making and Steve Irwin's unfortunate death (I was going to use the word 'untimely' but then I remembered the things this man used to do with crocodiles and snakes - strewth!). After some very authentic cusine (crispy fried duck - skin only? I'll pass on that thanks.) I actually hobbled back to the hotel. My feet had become so swollen that my sandals had cut into the skin leaving a sore, and very red, welt that ran half way around my foot. I looked like I'd escpaed from a chain gang. To make matters worse, the extreme humidity had resulted in not only a shocker of a demi-wave, but some thigh-chafing - aow, aow, aow.
Next up:
We play ping pong in Bangkok
& Break the bank at Vertigo.
On day 2, I tried my hand at haggling (though enjoyed more success when I communicated verbally). I went into a shop just off Nathan Road to get a memory stick for my camera. The over-zealous sales assistant told me I had "lovely temples". "Excuse me?" came my rather shocked response. "Your temples," he tried again, "are lovely. Beautiful temples. Very big." I was about to get up and leave when it dawned on me that he meant 'dimples'. "Aahh dimples!" I smiled back, "yes, thank you."
The dimples got me in trouble later that day when I made my perpetual mistake of smiling and saying hello to the wrong person, who then followed us around for about an hour and sat two rows behind us on the Star Ferry back to Kowloon.
High tea at the Peninsula Hotel was a wonderful treat. It was very old school with the waiting staff in colonial style uniforms. We partook of a lovely pot of Afternoon Tea and several fancies. My feet thanked me privately for the rest.
Day 3 was full-on and whatever love-fest my feet and I engaged in the previous day was gone. We visited the Bank of China tower, caught the tram up to the Peak, took a sangpang ride at Aberdeen Harbour. It was all very authentic and traditional, apart from the fact that the fisherman spent the majority of the time on his mobile phone. We caught the bus to the ferry terminal, took a tram to a temple, trampled along the world's longest sky-walk and stopped in at the museum of tea; where I learned about the ancient art of tea-making and Steve Irwin's unfortunate death (I was going to use the word 'untimely' but then I remembered the things this man used to do with crocodiles and snakes - strewth!). After some very authentic cusine (crispy fried duck - skin only? I'll pass on that thanks.) I actually hobbled back to the hotel. My feet had become so swollen that my sandals had cut into the skin leaving a sore, and very red, welt that ran half way around my foot. I looked like I'd escpaed from a chain gang. To make matters worse, the extreme humidity had resulted in not only a shocker of a demi-wave, but some thigh-chafing - aow, aow, aow.
Next up:
We play ping pong in Bangkok
& Break the bank at Vertigo.
Monday, April 03, 2006
The vodka monster returneth
Why am I such a weirdo when I'm drunk? Why, why, why, why, why?
Ok, so what I didn't say, when I was blogging for the love of tea on Saturday, was that I was quietly dying and (less quietly) wretching my sorry little soul out. Whilst it is indeed true that the arrival of the teapot was my favourite part of Friday night, I neglected to mention that I later welcomed the arrival of Queen Mother (God rest her soul) quantities of gin and even more vodka.
What I learned today, when I finally turned up at work, was that I am no ordinary drunk. Oh no baby! Not for me the crying nor the fighting nor even the sexual deviance of normal inebriated beings. Oh no, when I get pished I ... wait for it ... interview people; random strangers - about all manner of things.
How bizarre is that?
Apparently, I spent large parts of Friday evening dancing my way over to complete strangers whereupon, I'm told, I whipped out a pad and pen and began asking them - like some kind of demented Joseph Rowntree - about their jobs, their relationships, their health, and their feelings on the sorry state of Italy.
On Sunday evening, I had been puzzled to discover that my notebook was full of complete and utter pish I couldn't explain, so at least my colleagues' playful jests helped clear that one up. The notebook also contains around 20 email addresses next to which I've written: "Email with voucher for free meal." "Oh, that's right", said one of my colleagues, "you told everyone you interviewed that they'd get a free meal courtesy of Le Monde."
I am, of course, disturbed by this behaviour because it is truly class A, nutjob stuff, but I find it even more worrying that a significant number of people actually entertained what must have been the incoherent ramblings of a total steamer.
Never again, I promise, promise, promise.
Ok, so what I didn't say, when I was blogging for the love of tea on Saturday, was that I was quietly dying and (less quietly) wretching my sorry little soul out. Whilst it is indeed true that the arrival of the teapot was my favourite part of Friday night, I neglected to mention that I later welcomed the arrival of Queen Mother (God rest her soul) quantities of gin and even more vodka.
What I learned today, when I finally turned up at work, was that I am no ordinary drunk. Oh no baby! Not for me the crying nor the fighting nor even the sexual deviance of normal inebriated beings. Oh no, when I get pished I ... wait for it ... interview people; random strangers - about all manner of things.
How bizarre is that?
Apparently, I spent large parts of Friday evening dancing my way over to complete strangers whereupon, I'm told, I whipped out a pad and pen and began asking them - like some kind of demented Joseph Rowntree - about their jobs, their relationships, their health, and their feelings on the sorry state of Italy.
On Sunday evening, I had been puzzled to discover that my notebook was full of complete and utter pish I couldn't explain, so at least my colleagues' playful jests helped clear that one up. The notebook also contains around 20 email addresses next to which I've written: "Email with voucher for free meal." "Oh, that's right", said one of my colleagues, "you told everyone you interviewed that they'd get a free meal courtesy of Le Monde."
I am, of course, disturbed by this behaviour because it is truly class A, nutjob stuff, but I find it even more worrying that a significant number of people actually entertained what must have been the incoherent ramblings of a total steamer.
Never again, I promise, promise, promise.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Love? It's in the bag.
I am in the heady throes of a wonderfully satisfying love affair. And I have it bad. I can't function unless I've had some in the morning. I want it straight after lunch. It's the first thing I think of when I get home in the evenings. I've even woken up in the middle of the night because I just need it so badly.
Of course pessimistic killjoys and therapists (one and the same?) would say it doesn't count because it's not actually with a person. You see, I'm in love with tea. I've heard that it happens to us all but I never really believed it would happen to me. Having been a confirmed coffee drinker since the age of seven, I thought I was safe. Alas, love was up to its usual tricks and smacked me broadside when I least expected it. Love has been known to smack me unexpectedly and inconveniently with occasionally undesirable consequences, but it's precisely because tea is so darn convenient that this whole lovely affair is so darn perfect.
I'm so head over heels that I can't refrain from blatantly parading my relationship in front of my friends. "Cup of tea?", "fancy a cuppa?", "another tea?", "tea", "tea", "tea","tea", "tea", "tea" is all I seem to say these days. (It's been pointed out to me that this may be because I write everything else in this blog so have nothing new to say. I'm not convinced.)
This is where it gets a bit embarrassing, but I actually start craving an armchair and a nice cup of tea when I am out drinking alcohol in bars. Last night I was in Le Monde (which is, incidentally, full of lovely decor and shallow beautiful people, rendering it utterly soul-less) and my favourite part of the night was when the waitress brought me some tea; in a lovely china teapot. As soon as I'd had it, I just wanted more - and, and this is the great part, unlike other things in life, you don't have to "give it a few hours" before it's ready to go again. Oh the tea never stops.
I used to think people who said tea was what they craved when they were really thirsty were off their heads, but now I get it. I wake up with actual tea thirsts. A few people have told me that the moment they found themselves craving tea in a pub/bar was their 'Oh my God, I'm my mother' moment. For me, that happened a few years ago when I caught myself tucking into the sweets I'd just bought along with my petrol before I'd even shut the car door or put on my seatbelt, and then proceeding to drive with only my right hand on the wheel while the left one made the continual journey from bag to mouth and back again.
I really hope my relationship with tea does not reflect that of my mother's. My mum and tea used to love each other deeply, but sadly (and weirdly) she ditched it for the (in-vogue) hot water thing. An affair which, much to my perennial dismay, seems likely to go the distance.
Of course pessimistic killjoys and therapists (one and the same?) would say it doesn't count because it's not actually with a person. You see, I'm in love with tea. I've heard that it happens to us all but I never really believed it would happen to me. Having been a confirmed coffee drinker since the age of seven, I thought I was safe. Alas, love was up to its usual tricks and smacked me broadside when I least expected it. Love has been known to smack me unexpectedly and inconveniently with occasionally undesirable consequences, but it's precisely because tea is so darn convenient that this whole lovely affair is so darn perfect.
I'm so head over heels that I can't refrain from blatantly parading my relationship in front of my friends. "Cup of tea?", "fancy a cuppa?", "another tea?", "tea", "tea", "tea","tea", "tea", "tea" is all I seem to say these days. (It's been pointed out to me that this may be because I write everything else in this blog so have nothing new to say. I'm not convinced.)
This is where it gets a bit embarrassing, but I actually start craving an armchair and a nice cup of tea when I am out drinking alcohol in bars. Last night I was in Le Monde (which is, incidentally, full of lovely decor and shallow beautiful people, rendering it utterly soul-less) and my favourite part of the night was when the waitress brought me some tea; in a lovely china teapot. As soon as I'd had it, I just wanted more - and, and this is the great part, unlike other things in life, you don't have to "give it a few hours" before it's ready to go again. Oh the tea never stops.
I used to think people who said tea was what they craved when they were really thirsty were off their heads, but now I get it. I wake up with actual tea thirsts. A few people have told me that the moment they found themselves craving tea in a pub/bar was their 'Oh my God, I'm my mother' moment. For me, that happened a few years ago when I caught myself tucking into the sweets I'd just bought along with my petrol before I'd even shut the car door or put on my seatbelt, and then proceeding to drive with only my right hand on the wheel while the left one made the continual journey from bag to mouth and back again.
I really hope my relationship with tea does not reflect that of my mother's. My mum and tea used to love each other deeply, but sadly (and weirdly) she ditched it for the (in-vogue) hot water thing. An affair which, much to my perennial dismay, seems likely to go the distance.
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