As the above title would suggest, I had a very adult weekend out in the very adult Home Counties*, doing very adult things.
First off, I had a driving lesson in the run-up to my second driving test here in the UK, which I will probably fail. The fact that I – within 5 minutes of starting my lesson – unknowingly parked myself right on top of some STAY CLEAR lettering in the road doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.
Then I was off to a wedding reception. A very Essex wedding reception. The only way to do a wedding in Benfleet, one might say. There was an 80s-looking hall. There was a disco ball. There was surly looking barstaff at a makeshift bar. There was a lot of ABBA. There was a lot of group dancing. I didn’t know that 5 group-dancing songs existed, but they all played one right after the other. And everyone else seemed to know them. Finally and most notably, there were a lot of short skirts. Like, really short. Cough-and-your-vulva’s-going-to-pop-out short.
A late night involving 6 G&Ts and a lot of pink and feathers ended rather uneventfully with 1 McFlurry and a surprisingly sober car ride back to the in-laws’.
And then I was off the next day – bright and early – to a christening in Ipswich where:
- 1 pushy priest babbled incoherently for 45 minutes
- 2 babies were sacrificed to Jesus
- And innumerable finger sandwiches were consumed.
It was, indeed, a very adult weekend. A weekend from which I feel I need a counterbalance.
Maybe next weekend I can do more of this:
*Essex – okay so maybe this doesn’t conjure up visions of horse races and utterings of jolly good show, I do say, sir. But I’m glad I wasn’t at Ascot, personally.
We went to Colchester last night for drinks with Matt and Gemma. While in O’Neils, drinking a pint of delicious pear cider, the music that was previously completely innocuous — a little Belinda Carlisle here, some Blur there — suddenly became incredibly conspicuous.
Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.
It weirded me out too.
So I went to the chiropractor this morning and discovered that the weird ‘creaky door’ feeling in my left foot is due to a ‘locked arch’. Which is most likely due to me traipsing around town in my not-worn-in Birkenstock sandals with the straps too tight, thereby restricting the movement of my entire foot because the footbed is still very stiff.
I still love them, my new Birkenstocks.
I also got a whole 400 more words written for my Critical Evaluation due May 11th. But I also straightened out my notes and went to the library to get some more reading done when I’d realised I really should have some more research done for this thing. I’m going to bring my work with me to Essex this weekend. Red and I are going home to get our suitcases for the upcoming America trip, you see. Except we found out that his parents are actually going to be in France this weekend. They went because of the bank holiday on Monday. So it’s just going to be me and Red all by ourselves. Ah, room to stretch out and work in the peace and beauty of the conservatory rather than the flat in which all I can think about when I’m trying to concentrate is all the crap that could be cleaned up.
Also, going home this weekend means Fish and Chips! Whee!!!
Except since Red doesn’t get home until 6:30pm and it will take at least an hour to get to Witham and then we’re going to have to walk a mile and a half home (unless we get a cab) to get the car, I won’t be eating dinner until at least 8:30pm. This is not a good thing. You see, I get quite cross when I haven’t eaten. Blerg. Never mind that.