Item – It’s H’s birthday next week (yay H!), so we’ve gone away for a fun weekend in Another City Altogether. We’re staying in a very nice B&B. They made us tea with scones (whipped cream and strawberry jam, yes, absolutely) as soon as we arrived. And they have WiFi. LIKE.

Item – And then, because we’re all class, we dined on fish-and-chips at the sort of plastic table the chairs are bolted to, and then got a half-price bottle of wine in the Co-op on the way back to watch telly all evening. Ahh, marriage.

Item – I am 35, you know. Proper grown-up, with a PAYE tax code and strong opinions about washing-up-liquid and house prices and everything. And yet, my period still catches me out. I assumed that on day 6, I’m not going to suddenly rupture an artery and soak right through my trousers in the middle of a supermarket. I assumed wrongly. This is not the first time I’ve been caught out like this. Alas, I doubt it’ll be the last.

Item – But I am wiser than I was at 16, for I was wearing black trousers (and not, say, a white skirt with pastel flowers, since you ask. It was so much more than a mere fashion mistake).

Item – H is not quite so wise as me. I practically had to turn him upside down in the booze aisle and shake him until the B&B keys dropped out of his pocket. Dear chap, utterly oblivious to all such muttered hints such as ‘we really need to hurry up.’ ‘Seriously, H, we need to go NOW.’ ‘SOMETHING BAD IS HAPPENING, GIVE ME THE FUCKING KEYS.’

Item – And then I ran straddle-legged into the night, as if adopting a peculiar gait all the way up the main street could keep my knicker crotch from touching my trouser-crotch. Eh. My trousers have been scrubbed down with scented hand-soap and are drying on the radiator, so that worked. Did I bring a spare pair? Did I buggery.

Item – The red wine, delivered by the embarrassed and penitent H, trailing in ten minutes after me with his face stuck on ‘ohhhhhh I get it!’, was much appreciated. Cute Ute is in disgrace, however, and has been sent to Coventry. No one is to speak a single word to her for the rest of the weekend.

Item – I am meeting Interesting Internet People on Sunday. Dear Christ, what will I do for an encore?


4 responses to “Dork.

  • Womb For Improvement

    Can I be the first to congratulate you on your escaping London jaunts. I love the idea of weekends away but we never get our arses into gear. Talking of which sounds like your arse got a little too into gear, hate it when that happens.

    (Oh and H’s birthday! Well done you’re still alive etc).

  • a

    Now you have to go and do something very exciting to make sure that the straddle-legged run is not the most exciting part of your getaway…

  • Betty M

    Happy birthday next week H!

    Been there on the flooding – last time for me was in way cool San Francisco. Luckily wearing a dark pair of trews. Still grim whenever and wherever.

  • twangy

    Many happy returns to H.
    Oooh. Sorry about the speedy exit from the supermarket. A girl’s worst nightmare! But luckily we are not girls anymore and Can Cope.

    (I never quite grasped the meaning of dork – it’s one of those American words that I don’t quite see the need for/understand the concept of. Like nerd, I mean, isn’t that just a clever young person?
    Am I like that judge who didn’t know who Gazza was?

    I am, aren’t I. I’m an actual linguistic fossil.)

    Enjoy the rest of the trip.

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