Things are going well. At this moment I can hear Trots and Helen arguing over what I can only assume is an unflattering photo on Trots's wall; Jude ranting about something in the living room while Nikki makes a chilli; and Harri I presume has retreated to her lair of germs (I can hear her through the floor so I know this to be the case). What a happy band.
So. Apart from an entertaining heiroglyphs lesson (my name is a hand, an owl, water, and a reed) the main event of this week was the "roller disco" evening of unexpectedness. It began very well indeed, and a most enjoyable time was had in Kingsgate bar (who would have thought?), but once we actually tried to get our skates on, we were told it would be over an hour before we could do any rolling. So we gave up and explored the alternative delights of Jimmy A's - £2 trebles and a rodeo bull, what more could you want? To Jude and Nikki's massive entertainment, I am basically shit at the bull (DJ: "She's obviously not used to getting her leg over" - thanks man). But I did manage to get them a free shot out of my attempts, although to be fair the substance that the DJ produced from behind his music cupboard could have been anything. I then enjoyed a magic trick from the bouncer (my eagle eyes could not deduce any trickery, despite being literally IN his hand), and had a sit down in Klute before a long drag home. Good times.
I leave you with a record of my failure.
xxx
No comments:
Post a Comment