Monday, 14 January 2013

La Weekend

Recovery. Detox. Dry January. These are all words which have unfortunately not appeared in my vocabulary as of late. Slapped wrists all round.
This last weekend, I ventured from The Sticks to the Big City Lights. It's a love affair, my feelings towards London; it's in the early stages where you adore everything about it – even the surly commuters and the air so thick you can taste it. As I'm a once-a-month venturer away from the country, all the things which Londoners actually loathe, I love. After all, there's life there! Here's my weekend...

Catch up drinks and the inevitable what-am-I-wearing tonight conversation. One to ten vodka diet cokes, more catch ups with girlfriends and finally persuading them to head out into the night. Taxi-ing it out to Mayfair and disappearing below the streets to Annabel's. Recalling how old school glamorous the private Club is with its cut glass cocktails and the feeling that, if it wasn't so gloriously discreet it would have some real stories to give up. Disappearing to Lulus for killer martinis and dancing like maniacs, literally, in 2 & 8. Being asked if I was Brazilian after shaking my body to the DJ and his fellow drummer and their tunes. Worrying how tight my leather trousers may've been for them to think that... Evening debrief before falling into bed. Strong coffee and talking shop in a Saturday meeting. An afternoon of fizz and gossip and having port wine coloured nails. Great cocktails and greater company at The Jam Tree. The quickest Get Dressed of all time before heading out to a birthday supper at No.11 Cadogan Gardens. Revelling in the plush velvet and dark panels of the bar and going into the mirrored light and damask tablecloths of the restaurant. Trying on joke moustaches and eating Fererro Rocher (same calories as a staple meal jacket potato) from goodie bags. Nearly scraping the plates and licking our knives at the delicious food. Somebody making the leading-us-astray choice of tequila. Heading to Barbarella. Serious dance moves. The boys included and perhaps in particular. Bypassing Vingt Quatre's eggs benedict to save my waistline. Debriefing again over tea and toast into the early hours. Recovery lunch and cooing over a friend's engagement. Braving the cold and the headache in favour of a trip round the V&A and the Hollywood Costume Exhibition. Standing in awe in front of Vivien Leigh's red velvet and feathered dress from Gone with the Wind; the ultimate scarlet woman outfit. Not coping too well with the crowds and heading off to the safety of a bar. Eating chocolate birthday cake and being seduced by the sofa. Making the incredibly difficult decision to leave the warmth of my friend's house and the hustle and bustle behind me to hit the road. Discovering that the M4 on a Sunday evening is the longest road in Britain. Thinking my bed never looked so good. Ever.
Great weekend girls, let's do it again soon. Just as soon as my bank account has recovered. XX

I wish my narrative could be illustrated with pictures, but playing paparazzi didn't go with my outfit...

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