I am back from Camp Bestival in one piece – knackered, tanned (apart from where my sunglasses were – attractive,) and CB highlights will follow in another post.
In the meantime, I’ve started (yet another) new job, one I’m actually really excited about, and I thought that it was high time I had a proper girly catch up with my BFF.
Down the pub, natch.
Now I like to think I’m a great multi-tasker and my friend and I had heard about a Singles Evening that was being held in a pub near to us … so …. we figured we’d go along. To be honest, we were more interested in catching up with each other’s gossip, but it’s always nice to meet new (hot) people right?
The event was billed as an Over-35’s evening. Considering I only just scrape into this category … (cough) … we thought it would be a laugh if nothing else. Plus, we’d obviously look the youngest there. Obviously.
First problem was we couldn’t get a cab. My eldest son came to the rescue, however, and called his friend to pick us up, (for a fee of course.)
(Just as an aside, since when did I become old enough to have a son whose friends can drive?! WTAF?)
The babysitter had arrived – a rare treat in itself, but I really needed some chill out time so I thought it was worth the cost. Dexter was happy, primarily because he could stay up late and eat cake. And at the end of the day, if Mum’s happy, he’s happy.
So we rocked up at this pub, only slightly fashionably late, (the babysitter was on the clock after all,) we said goodbye to the boys and walked to the front door. What greeted me was, what I can only describe as a scene from Phoenix Nights.
A man aged 110 approached us. You could see his patterned shirt from outer space. Think more garish than Noel Edmonds. *voms* Right, now think of George Clooney … (see above) … now think of the absolute opposite of that. That’s what greeted us.
“You here for the Singles night ladies?”
I made a split second decision without even having to looking at my friend.
“Singles night? No, sorry. Didn’t know there was one on.”
We ran to the bar, in need of a stiff … vodka, but were suddenly surrounded by other OAPs in equally hideous clothing with complimentary mullets. There was a band, which consisted of two old fellas on guitars, and as the ‘singles’ zoned in on us (think Shaun of the Dead zombies,) we edged our way out of the pub, and out into the fresh air, having apparently completely missed the ‘Over 45’s’ sign on the way in.
We spent the next three hours putting the world to rights, eating nachos and drinking beer – happy to be left in peace and glad that actually, as fun as dating can sometimes be, that night, it was perfect just chilling with my BFF.