Tag Archives: fun

Restoration Time

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I’m not going to lie, it’s been a pretty exhausting two days, so I’ve more than welcomed the opportunity to vegetate all day today, watching back to back films (Pacific Rim, Stoner and The Hangover 3, should you be wondering-an eclectic selection to say the least) and eating Dominos pizza with my boyfriend and his brothers on his birthday. Tomorrow when the clan departs it will be nose back to the grind stone time, starting with a ninety minute run to kick start the metabolism after a weekend of booze and carbs and followed by a long writing session to begin to make up the eight thousand words I’m now behind in my NaNowrimo challenge. But that’s fine with me, because life is all about the yin and the yang, and after tipping the scales heavily in one direction with this weekend’s birthday celebrations it’s high time to reverse the trend and get back to sensible pursuits and healthy living. Move aside Dominos and partying, vegetables and sleep are back on the menu for the foreseeable future…

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Peter Pan Syndrome

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As I prepare to move seamlessly from an afternoon of sanding and varnishing furniture in a nursery to an all-night fancy dress (Halloween-themed) techno rave with twenty friends, it does occur to me the life I lead is sometimes a dichotomy of considerable proportions.

I’ve talked about my (late onset) love of fancy dress on this blog before, and have also touched more than once on my deep-seated fear that I should start acting my age. But the problem is this: I don’t want to. Yes, I’m thirty two now and yes, there is a palpably strong argument to be made that it’s time to slow down, rein in the partying and (wait for it) “settle down.” And yet the counter argument of thirty two no longer being ‘old’ in a society where everything is increasingly happening later in life is just as compelling.

There’s also the fact I have a boyfriend who is five years younger than me, which means that even if I wanted to tone down my social life I would struggle to do so without being labelled the ‘boring older woman.’ Not that I really care what I’m labelled these days (that being the only obvious benefit of growing up, as far as I can see).

Reading the above one might assume I’m out on the town every night. This, I’m happy to report, is very much not the case. I worked out the second I hit thirty that mid-week drinking in this decade and beyond would only bring me pain-not that I always manage to remember that, mind, but at least the slip ups are fewer these days. When I do go out I simply like to make sure that the occasion is steeped in fun-and how much more fun can you get than fancy dress? I’ll tell you: No more.

It could be argued that I have a severe case of Peter Pan Syndrome, and that may well be right, but you know what? When I’m old and grey and lying on my death bed I will never have cause for concern that I didn’t make the most of being young(ish). Come to think of it, I wonder if they do fancy dress parties in heaven…

Oktoberfest in London: Epic times

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When I convinced fifty one of my friends to accompany me to Oktoberfest in London to celebrate my birthday, I must admit I was a bit concerned it wouldn’t live up to my expectations. After going to the ‘real’ Oktoberfest in Munich in 2010 the bar was set extremely high, and I wasn’t convinced the true spirit of the event would translate all that well in an English context. But fortunately I was wrong, and as soon as we walked into the tent and saw hundreds of people dancing on the tables holding giant steins of beer I knew we had made a good decision to come. Before long we were dancing on our table too, singing along to all the cheesy songs and sloshing beer around with the best of them. It really was rip roaring fun, despite the ridiculous lack of beer taps and staff, which led to enormous queues for the bar and ultimately to our leaving early and returning to the pub we started in to continue the festivities. But by far the best bit of the day for me, besides seeing all my friends in Bavarian fancy dress, was when an East End gangster strolled into the pub and bought my entire party shots of jager bomb for my birthday. Utterly, utterly surreal, and absolutely bloody fantastic. Maybe thirty two won’t be so bad after all…

Prost!!

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Today is my thirty second birthday party and, true to form, I have arranged a suitably ridiculous event to mark this auspicious occasion. From 1pm, fifty two lederhosen and dirndl-clad men and women, all between the ages of twenty five and thirty five, will be gathering in a pub somewhere near Greenwich. Once the motley crew has assembled, we will make our way to Milwall Park to collect our tickets for Oktoberfest London, where we will proceed to dance, make merry, drink beer and eat stew like they’re going out of fashion. If we can’t go to the real Oktoberfest in Germany this is the next best thing. As they say, if you can’t bring Mohammed to the mountain, bring the mountain to Mohammed. And if you can’t dress up and be silly on your birthday when can you?

Hey Shorty…

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After the success that was my first experience of a US blues rock band, Vintage Trouble, tonight my musical odyssey continues with a gig at Koko in Camden by New Orleans trumpet and trombone player, Trombone Shorty. Both recommendations came courtesy of my friend and travelling (now also gig) partner Gabrielle, whose finger is pushing hard on a pulse I never knew existed (my own music collection to date comprising a handful of woefully old drum and bass albums and a random assortment of chart music so cheesy even Steps would have refused to sing it).

The Vintage Trouble gig was a few weeks ago now, but I can still remember the energy of the crowd and the phenomenal stage presence of the (not unattractive, which always helps) band members. Their charisma, confidence and catchy tunes sliced through my Monday blues like a well-oiled knife, which is exactly what I’m hoping Trombone Shorty will succeed in replicating this evening after what has been a frankly shocking day. Gabrielle assures me Vintage Trouble were but a warm up for this, the main event. Trombone Shorty, my man, you’ve got your work cut out tonight, let me tell you-see you Short-ly (see what I did there? I’m here all week).

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Carnival

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ImageEvery year it amazes me that the Notting Hill carnival is allowed to take place, given the sheer amount of detritus it leaves in its wake. But it’s testament to the spirit of this glorious city that it does go ahead, and that it’s managed so well and enjoyed by so many. This year I went on both days, spending most of Sunday at the appropriately named Good Times bus and today at the Red Bull sound system under the Westway in Portobello. The latter was a private party I was lucky enough to win tickets to in a public ballot along with 999 other people (out of 19,000 who applied, or so someone I met this afternoon informed me). With a stellar line up of djs and a free bar from midday to 7pm it was always going to be an awesome party, and so it was, despite the fact we were feeling a touch jaded after yesterday’s frivolities. Right now I’m feeling like I’ve had a bit too much fun this weekend, but I’m sure I’ll do it all over again next year. Let the good times (bus) roll…

A roller coaster day

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Today I rediscovered my inner child on a work trip to Thorpe Park. After an absence of ten years (and the rest) I wasn’t sure it would elicit quite the same thrill but I’m pleased to report it was just as good – if not better – than when I went all those years ago. It was funny experiencing it through the eyes of an adult chaperone rather than a young person though. Our group was a diverse but lovely bunch and I couldn’t help but pick out the ones that reminded me of my group of friends when I was that age (needless to say these were, generally speaking, the ones at the gobbier end of the spectrum), and observe the way in which they interacted with the quieter members of the group.

There were moments when I felt the ‘adults’ (I will never get used to referring to myself as such) were more excited about the rides than the young people, and none more so than when me and my colleague ran off to buy fast track tickets for two of the rollercoasters – Saw and Colossus – and the two boys we were with at the time just ambled off to the arcade games, completely disinterested. In the end though there was something for everyone, and I think it’s safe to say the day was enjoyed by all, whether or not they partook in the rides. It was just lovely to see all of the young people interacting and enjoying the experience together – amazing when you consider these are kids who were deemed at risk of dropping out of school and becoming disengaged before they took part in the Teens and Toddlers programme in year 9 or 10 of secondary school. It just goes to show that encouraging young people to believe in themselves and develop to their full potential really does work.

Festival fever

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Today I’m off to a one day music festival (Hideaway festival) in Henley-on-Thames. Having spent a large portion of my formative teenage years in Henley I’m looking forward to going back, seeing some old friends and drinking cider in the sunshine (provided the weather holds out).

I’m particularly looking forward to seeing singer-songwriter, Megan Henwood, and “urban reggae heavyweights,” Laid Blak, perform. I first saw Megan sing at an intimate gig in Reading organised by a friend of mine, and was mesmerised by the rawness of her lyrics and the ethereal quality of her voice. Afterwards I snapped up her album and have listened to it countless times since. Laid Blak are a different kettle of fish entirely but no less brilliant-I saw them at last year’s Secret Garden Party festival and this year’s Glastonbury and loved them both times-especially their fab cover of Bob Marley’s ‘Don’t worry.’

As I’ve got older my desire to hang out in sweaty clubs until 6am has certainly waned, yet my love of festivals is still going strong. Whereas once I had the fleeting thought I’d have to stop going to festivals once I’d passed my early thirties, now I’m here I can quite see myself at Glastonbury ten years from now, cider in hand and a big grin plastered on my face.

What I love most about festivals besides the music is the fact they are so inclusive. Whereas going to certain clubs beyond the age of 30 might elicit odd looks from the pre-pubescent clubbers therein (and at this point I refer back to my recent experience of Audio club in Brighton-horrific), by and large at festivals nobody cares how old you are. Everyone’s just in the same muddy boat, and despite the inevitable rain, punctured mattresses and overflowing portaloos it’s simply fabulous.

Also, whether they last for a day or a week, festivals offer a much-needed opportunity to cut loose and forget about the outside world. They enable grown adults to act like teenagers again, albeit only for a few hours. Getting together with friends in a field full of live music and cider tents-surely that’s what life’s about?

Summer loving

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For the first time this year it feels like summer has finally arrived, and it may even hang around a bit to brighten the collective mood of the nation. Temperatures are high and spirits even higher. We may not get much good weather here in Britain but when we do, by heck do we know how to eek every last drop of satisfaction out of it.

Yesterday I went to Brighton for a mini break with three girlfriends. It had been planned for some time so the good weather was a fortunate, though most welcome, addition. We arrived just in time to secure a good spot on the beach and whiled away a very pleasant few hours in the sunshine before retiring to our capacious hotel suite for a rest and some pre-drinks. Later on we braved the inordinately large number of hen and stag dos congregating on the sea front and made our way to a club called Audio, which played decent music but which was packed to the rafters with what I can only describe as utter pikeys. Nonetheless we had a great night and laughed our heads off, so we absolutely fulfilled our fun quota.

When we returned today the weather was so fantastic that the only logical thing to do was sit in the sunshine on Clapham Common with ice lollies and some summer tunes on the speakers. As I sat and looked around at my friends and reflected on the great weekend I was having I felt a deep sense of contentment, in part because I love the summer but in the main because I realised how fortunate I am to have so many wonderful people to share it with. After a bit of sunbathing I met some other friends in the pub beer garden for a quick drink before heading home and had the same feelings of good fortune and happiness.

It’s all too easy to take the people and places in your life for granted, which is why it’s important sometimes to just stop and look around at what you have – and to realise that despite the odd down day here and there, all is just the way you like it – lovely.

Il Palio 2013

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Sometimes in life there are days almost too comical to recount. But, for the sake of brevity and duty I intend to try. 
 
Yesterday began with a quick breakfast before we headed to the train station in central Florence to catch out train to Siena. An hour and a half and some beautiful countryside later we arrived at our destination. A short while (and many escalators-Siena train station feels, from a geographical perspective, like it has been located in the core of the earth) later and we were sipping beer in a delicatessen whilst waiting for our dinner rolls to be prepared (the owner apologised for his gruffness but said it was one of the most important days of the year and nerves were understandably frayed).
 
After wandering through the streets and soaking up the carnival atmosphere that is pre-Palio (Siena’s twice yearly  famous bare back horse race) we arrived at the restaurant my stepfather had booked for lunch and took our seats outside on the terrace. Which is where the fun really began, as my mother saw fit not only to inform us olives turned into grapes somewhere along the manufacturing line (and I wondered where I got my gullibility-not wondering any more), but also that she had always rather liked the idea of being a nudist (“unencumbered by clothes”) – just what you want your boyfriend to hear during a family meal.
 
After lunch we made our way through the back streets to the cathedral where we visited some relics and watched the various parishes who would be taking part in the race parade with their flag bearers and other accoutrements. 
 
At 5pm we began the queue into the central square to find a spot from which we could observe the race. Fortunately the area we picked was mostly in shade-whilst it was delightful to have sun at Glasto nothing could prepare our pasty skin for the onslaught of true Tuscan sun-so we sat out the next three hours in relative comfort (save for the thousands of people all around, and one particularly nauseating couple in front of us who seemed incapable of not being attached by the lips at all times).
 
After much waiting around and several false starts the horses were off, and in three short laps it was all over, with three of the ten jockeys being unseated. Then came the real fun (were I speaking to you at this point you’d be hard pressed not to notice the sarcasm in my voice), as we tried to scale a four foot wall to beat the crowd out of the enclosure. The sight of my 66 year old mother revealing her knickers to the world and screaming “I can’t do it!” as she clambered over, followed by my boyfriend’s whispered comment of “II totally just groped your mum by the way” were matched in the bizarre stakes only by mum’s enjoyment of my drum and bass music as we slightly tipsily shared my headphones on the train home afterwards. In short, an odd but supremely enjoyable day out a la famiglia.