Monthly Archives: June 2007

Pub Spy?

Took a little trip down to the Lounge Bar in Chislehurst for an 80s night.  Really crap.  Posers galore, all looking over their shoulders for someone richer/more powerful to impress.  Tres sad.  So, there was only one thing for me and Paula to do.  Found a spot near the DJ (who incidentally was rather good) and danced our little socks off.  We got a few strange looks from the posers at first, but they soon joined in.  Amazing what a certain attitude can achieve.  The highlight of the evening was the gay barman dancing ON the bar.  That man truly deserves a payrise.
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Mini Mayhem and Capri Chaos

Went to the Bromley Motoring Pageant (or whatever) yesterday.  Paid £2 for what was pointed out to be a really crappy thin car mag, despite it being advertised as a ‘programme’.  At least it came in handy as a hat when it rained.
You know me and cars – I was in heaven.  Loads of minis to get the reminiscing brain cells going.  My first mini was mid-blue, with wide alloy wheels, double exhaust, walnut dash and a wicked sound system.  I loved that car, despite it being an electrical nightmare, and it had the best numberplate for a 17-year old.  PYT 3P – you figure it out (think Michael Jackson).  Last time I saw it, it was dumped by the side of a road in Coulsden after Stuart mashed it at banger-racing.  RIP.
There were also lots of Capri’s.  (C’mon Deb, let’s go for a HACK!).  Mine was a weapon (well, back then anyway).  It had snazzy racing stripes, and went like a bomb, even though the back end did slide all over the place at speed.  Had some bloody good times in that car… pity some uninsured stoner couldn’t remember where his brake pedal was and ploughed into me (well, Debbie Rogers really – she had a bruise on her legs for weeks afterwards).
Anyway, I digress (again).  There really were some fab cars there, and there was even a ‘show’ of bike stunts, demonstrated by people with such names as ‘Flyin Ryan’ and ‘Jumpin James’.   There was even a Kit car (y’know – have I talked about the Hoff before or what?!).  And the stretch Hummer was just too cool – I’ve seen it on the M25 before but this time I got to see inside it!  Nightclub city.
All in all, a good day (despite the rain) and a rather large anti-climax when I came to drive home in my not-customised or souped-up Ford C-Max Zetec.
Oh, and a little tip for those of you who have sooper-dooper cars with a tiny battery.  If you leave your lights on and your battery goes dead, before you go tromping round a huge muddy field asking about fifty people if they have jump leads, it’s always a good idea to check your own boot first.

Girl Interrupted

Or to put another way, woman on pause.  That’s what I feel like.  I’ve packed up nearly all I can at the moment and now am hanging around in a house full of boxes, with nothing to do but wait.  Snorarama.

Mushy Brain

I have a tentative moving date of 16th July.  That would be exactly a month from today for those of you who can’t count.  Or four weeks and two days.  Or 30 days.  I could go on but that would get really boring.  The house is looking barer by the day – it doesn’t feel like my house anymore and I’m itching to get going.  Plus I am pig-sick of sleeping on the sofa.  I am really looking forward to having a nice bedroom again, with wardrobes too!  What luxury.  All my clothes are either in boxes or hanging on the ironing board in the lounge – no wonder I seem to be wearing the same three outfits in rotation.

Shrinking

Now I’ve got rid of the red four-seater sofa in my lounge, it looks like a dance studio.  So I, not being one to pass up an opportunity, have been boogying around (typical – I move in about 4 weeks time and NOW I get to really enjoy the space) despite my blisters.  Dorty is sick of my ‘fave June’ CD and keeps telling me to turn it off but nah, not happening.  And (drum roll plz)… I’ve lost half a stone.  Whoever has found it, can keep it.

The Bad Ol’ Days

Going down The Bridge Bar (aka Langtry’s, Lautrecs or if you’re REALLY old, Tights) has brought back loads of memories.  One of my best mate’s husband used the manage Langtry’s so it was treated as our local.  Never paid to get in, free drinks and loads of dancing – happy days.  There are some particular times that stick out – New Year’s Eve, swapping clothes with Mike the DJ, Debbie falling over in sick, Debbie (again) getting glass in her knee and one of the bouncers offering to get it out with a metal coathanger, me winning a t-shirt for having the boobs to fill it (wow – that was in the Richard Taylor days!) – ah, good times.  I was hoping to see DJ’s Mark Franklyn & Stevie B, and also Jason (fond memories, guys!) when we went down there on Saturday but, bloody typical, they were all off for the night.  Was a pity, especially as the fill-in DJ played such gems as Phil Collins and Dolly Parton (I kid you not).  Sad to say, but we still danced.

Mushy Feet Part Deux

I knew my feet were rather f**ked after dancing all of Saturday night in heels, but I wasn’t expecting blisters on the balls of my feet – owwww!  Feel like the girl with the red shoes (that story by Hans Christian Anderson?), or maybe The Little Mermaid (not the crap Disney version but the original one where every step felt like a thousand knives).  I could’ve just swayed gently to the music, thus avoiding the suffering now, but Ho No, I had to go stamping around, didn’t I?  And was it worth it?  Hmmm…. yes.