Well, its time for a blog that isn’t about football. This last weekend for the first time this year, I spent the weekend in London, accompanied by a young lady. As a result I did not see any football at all nor did I get to cycle either. And, I have to say it was great.
As Michelle was coming down, I had to do something to make the house look less like a pigsty and more like a home. After my disaster at cleaning last weekend, I was left in a quandary this week. Could I trust myself with the steam cleaner. Well, I put on protective clothing and decided to bravely take on the steam cleaner and I’m proud to say that I won, but it was a close thing. The house was made slightly less untidy/ dirty, but I realise I need to get a cleaner, preferably a live in cleaner with benefits (are you listening…..?)
Instead of travelling by train/tube and meeting Michelle at Kings Cross and going out for a drink at Liverpool Street, we decided I would drive up, and bring Michelle back here and we’d have our big night out on the Saturday instead. Well that was the plan….I did meet Michelle and drove back to my house. From there things seemed to go downhill rapidly.
We decided to pop out to the Irish Bar at the end of my street for a couple of beers. I must comment that Michelle looked the lady in her gorgeous little black dress and heels, whilst I looked like the accused in my ill fitting suit. A couple of beers became rather more than that. As the alcohol flowed, so the behaviour became……. [I have just been reminded that what happens on tour stays on tour]… So, we eventually staggered home and cracked open the vodka bottle.
I have to say that Michelle knows how to bring out the best in me, and we had a great night, even if it was at least 4am before we went to sleep. See, we’re not to old to party!
Following the antics of Friday night, we had a leisurely day on Saturday, spending some quality time with just each other for company. That is always a test for a relationship! I think we passed.
Saturday night we decided that discretion was the better part of valour and we therefore thought it best not to show our faces in the Irish Bar and instead we thought we’d head down to Romford for a night out. Luxury transport was the order of the day, so we got the number 86 bus into Romford and headed into the first pub we came across. It was one we had been in together last summer, but Michelle couldn’t remember it.
Bizarrely the door staff we not outside the premises but were several yards inside the premises. There role seemed to be merely to check people could prove their age. We got served quickly and took up a position in the pub to people watch. The pub had a clientele ranging in age from 16 to 70+. The dress code seemed to be anything that did not suit or look smart. The older or fatter the women were, the more flesh they seemed to show. Tattoos seemed to be compulsory for females. The males in the bar were no better, they seemed to have no dress sense and only slightly less tattoos than the females.
On to the next pub up the street, only to be expected to agree to be searched before going in to the pub. Obviously a nice place, but we were not going to let anyone search us, so onto the next pub. This one was charging to get in at 9pm on a Saturday night. No, there was no band on, just a charge to get into a pub. [How long before Tesco start this approach?]. I’m not paying just to enter a pub, so it was onto the next pub. This proved to be a very good choice as double vodkas and diet coke were less than £3-50 a throw. It would not be a shock to those who know us to realise we didn’t abuse the prices.
As we tried to drink the pub dry of vodka we went back to people watching. The view was even less pretty than in the first pub. There were only 2 people who had not hit every branch of the ugly tree as they fell out of it. Sadly, one of those two spoilt it by opening her mouth. The Essex accent is the ultimate contraceptive.
We headed off for the night bus home, only after the pub had shut and we were the last ones to leave the premises. If we had waited any longer, I think we would have been physically ejected.
The night bus dropped us off outside the Irish Bar at the end of my street. That was still open and we did debate whether we dare show our faces in there after the previous night. The decision however was made for us after what we did ever so not discretely in the car park opposite the pub. No, nothing like that – you’re crude.
So we headed home for more vodka and finally into bed. It was Sunday afternoon by the time we surfaced. Just time for a quick bite to eat and a dash to Kings Cross to get Michelle’s train.
What did we learn this weekend?
1. Romford is possibly the ugliest town- and I don’t just mean the architecture
2. Those who were less ugly sadly had an Essex accent.
3. Behaving disgracefully – you’re never too old for it.