Last night I went dancing with my friends. I am pleased to say that we didn't go to 'Hip Replacement' a disco for my age group which starts at seven and finishes at midnight. I don't mean to sound smug but I am delighted that I still have a spark of life in me, every now and then at least.
We met at eight at mine for a drinks and a bite to eat. I had in mind a grand buffet with an ethnic theme, homebaked baguette and all. I managed no such thing, of course I didn't. I went to Waitrose instead to stock up on nice delicatessen. Richard kindly went out later to buy 'girl beer'. I think he meant lager, which he considers unmanly. It was nice to chat and eat and I was kind of hoping that the dancing might be postponed to another day.
Alas, my friends are made of sterner stuff and a taxi was called to take us into town. It was by then after 11 pm. We went to a small bar for a quick drink and then joined the queue for the Cathouse. Being lovely ladies, we were allowed to jump the queue. The club came a bit as a shock to me. It was dark, extremely loud and full of young men and women dancing wildly to the latest metal rock. I am after all 45 years old. I just went to the website to remind myself of the genres played: rock, alt and metal on level 1, pop, punk, screamo, hardcore and beats on level 2. I kid you not. There I was with my white embroidered Boden top, fitting right in. I do like a bit of rock and some of the music played can be found on my iPhone but I was glad to have enjoyed a few glasses of prosecco prior to our departure, to soften the shock. I stuck to water thereafter, a good strategy retrospectively, no headache or funny tummy today at all. Soon we were into the dancing. Being middle aged and happily married, I didn't need to impress anyone and relaxed into the beat. I used to worry a lot about not being a good dancer, missing the beat and looking a bit silly. These days I don't care at all. I am quite happy to hop around like mountain goat on speed. I have never quite seen that many tattoos in one place, and big rocker manes, too. I do wonder if whiplash is a problem in metal rockers? You know, all that head banging. We danced for about three hours then made our way to the stewarded taxi rank at Central Station. What a spectacle, I tell you, it was quite otherworldly. All I am saying is that I am glad I was not one of the police officers on duty.
Just in case you are wondering, I am not what you would call a serial clubber. I am not in the habit of hitting town weekly. I wouldn't go on my own. I mostly like spending the evenings with my knitting or a book. The most enjoyable part of going out to the dancing is to spend time with friends. I don't make friends easily and I am glad I have a few I feel comfortable enough with to let my hair down. I am glad they show me a Glasgow I would never otherwise know, a Glasgow that my children will soon start to experience (what a scary thought that is!). I am glad my friends like me the way I am (a bit provincial and naive when it comes to night life). Thank you, all four of you.
Today, I was feeling rather energised. I didn't bother with my Sunday jog. I started weeding the garden, cleaned the kitchen and several months worth of filth and assorted debris under and on the shelving unit where the family computer resides. I filled several bags with clothes and other stuff for charity. The scary box with dozens of entangled redundant cables was finally sorted through and bagged for recycling.
Finally, I was treated to a lovely dinner of barbecued chicken, corn on the cob and couscous. It was a glorious day in Glasgow, sunny and warm. The children were playing outside all day long and there was even a paddling pool to be enjoyed.
Thanks for all your comments on my last post. I never had that Margarita on Friday night, nor did I cook anything with celery, yogurt and capers. There was a Bolognese sauce in the freezer.
I am looking forward to a new week. May it be a good one! Cxx