On Love

Today is Valentine's Day, and Ricky is taking me for dinner tonight. I am very excited by this prospect, as I am rather hungry. He has also bought me a poetry book and a card, in which he tells me that I am his 'first and last munch of biscuits' a truly romantic sentiment I feel.

Anyway, I am a lucky girl. I know this. Last night, being a Saturday, there were a lot of anti- Valentines nights happening - clubs, pubs and parties abounded like any other Saturday in London town. But we were off to little Jessie's birthday - the theme of which was 'ANDROGYNY.' A daunting prospect, as this is the sort of theme that actually requires you to have a think about what to wear (and also maybe a quick look at a dictionary)...Anyone who knows Ricky will know that he is rather an expert on these matters, an authority, if you will on gender studies and the like, he decided, in his infinite wisdom to go as a seahorse. Seahorses can and do change gender from m-f and back throughout their lives, also the men can carry pregnancies. This involved Ricky buying a purple sequined dress from a market stall (ox st, size 10) and then making a strange seahorse headdress and snout out of a pizza box and egg carton. Needless to say, he looked very good.

I had even more unkempt hair than usual - sticking out at least two foot from either side in different directions. I teemed this vagabond look with a tuxedo shirt and black jacket, bow tie and black trousers. The vampy red lips and black 'tasche were an afterthought, but most pleasing to behold. As you can tell, I didn't put much thought into it, I just thought about what was handy and shoved it on. Nice.

There were lots of lovely yooof at the party, and I felt as though I were 104 years old, clutching at my mug of wine and shuffling from chair to chair. Even at one point, after loosing the nice bottle of Bordeaux that we bought, turning down another glass of wine from a friendly stranger after scrutinising the bottle and declaring that I 'don't care for Merlot, and would try to stick to the Burgundy.' What a total ponce.

That statement was short-lived however, and I believe I came across that same smiling stranger a few hours later when foraging for contraband booze, coming across an dusty bottle of Drambuie and shrieking 'Ah! Loverly boozy potions!' in their face. I did, of course, drink everything in my path, resulting in a possibly unwise move to the Dalston Jazz Bar (always ace, always full) where I jived around til 3am then realised that I had to work at 9am.

And that is what I am doing right now. My brain is soggy and hurty, and I have just looked in the mirror to examine some of the stuff that is being held hostage by my hair. At the moment most of it seem unidentifiable. Hopefully just some sticky Drambuie or the remnants of an individual cheese souffle. Don't ask.

I will tell you tomorrow where we dined tonight and any other news. I am excited as it is Glee night and Ruthie will be here. I am also going to help Karen decorate her flat - possibly not as good as Glee, but still good.

Fancy dress - Do's and Don'ts:

DO:

Dress up. A bit. Go on! Make a little effort.

Bring plenty of delicious booze that you can clutch in your own bag all night (tramps handbag), chewing gum and possibly a Curly Wurly for the long journey home.

Keep re-applying your fake facial hair at regular intervals. Your persistence will pay off.

DON'T:

Eat only one small lightweight souffle before going to a party. It is made of air and will not line your tummy. Bleurgh.

Offer to pay a taxi driver in songs performed by the kerbside. They don't accept this as legal tender.

Drink Drambuie. EVER.

Have a lovely Sunday!

xxx