Monday, September 27, 2010

Dancing Like The Way You Move

So...the dust has settled enough from my epic night out on Saturday to be able to contemplate it. Yesterday was a total wash out filled with food and much recovering - there was certainly not enough brain power to consider a review!

We awoke hurting and hanging and had just about enough wherewithall between us to put together a fry up - an epic fry up. Every thing with the potential to be fried food went into this breakfast. Twas a feast for kings...and about 30 minutes after we'd finished this my mum phoned to see what time we were coming round for the roast she was cooking. Now, to be fair I'd had ample warning that she was intending to make this roast. In fact, this roast was being cooked in my honour and was stuffed with parsnips and sweet potatoes just for me. I'd forgotten about passing on this vital information or limiting my intake of food so as to leave enough space for said roast. Error.

We rocked up to my parents' house and tried our best to cram in as much of this delicious roast as possible but it was difficult. I didn't even know parsnips could look smug.

Saturday night was a night of two halves. It began with a sedate meal - desperately trying to cheer up a slightly heart broken younger sister. It turned out all she needed was vodka and a jug or two of a drink that tasted like Berocca. We drank a fucktonne of it and quite frankly it did not result in 'me, but on a really good day'. It resulted in me, but on a day where I can't see and am incapable to choregraphed movement.

We finished up our night in a greta new club - the only great club Taunton has ever had, and one that has sprung into being since I moved. Gutted. While in there we realised that the small (now drunken) sister was catnip to local men. Older sister, also giggling drunkenly into a Smirnoff Ice, was a magnet for whorebitches in stilettos who like to bruise people's feet. I, it seems, am a magnet to group dances. macarena? Yes. Just yes.

The taxi home at 3am was definitely good craic. I had the phone number for a lawyer with nice teeth, a sister who was pretty ssure her foot was broken, a sister who probably had the phone number of the 40 odd men who had fallen over their own feet to speak to her and a giant grin on my own face. Now, if only I could remember what the lawyer was called or whether he had any interesting features other than shiny teeth I'd be laughing...

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