That was a weekend like all weekends should be. Lots of fun stuff, and still time for two lie-ins.
Met Ange for a drink after work on Friday night, although worryingly it was all either of us could do to stay awake (not a testament to the company, I’m sure). The Ark’s video jukebox is getting better – they even played Cherryfalls at some point – so we just dozed in front of that for a bit.
ME (on Franz Ferdinand’s “Walk Away” video): Oh my God. It’s like they’re dying to be the Foo Fighters, but art school sucked out thir sense of humour.
(As if psychic, the next song up is “D.O.A.” – basically a video rehash, but without that painful sense of irony. And with more canaries.)
ME: See? SEE?!
I see no point in scripting Ange’s shut-the-fuck-up-Pixie silences. But I convinced him to get a McDonalds on the way home (after enduring no end of mockery for my bacon cheeseburger fixation) so it’s all good.
I won’t pass comment on the rest of the evening, suffice to say George Galloway is never going to work again, is he? Saturday would have been even more fun had I managed to track down a phone-less Jules (you don’t realise how big the city is until you’re trying to find somebody, although you can always count on running into people when you least expect it). I had fun shopping on my own regardless, picking up the following in the sales:
- a teeny black lacy and not-entirely-unGAWTH dress unlike anything I have ever owned or worn from Morgan. And perhaps I never will wear it. But hey, it had 70% off;
- a brown woollen shrug from Republic (£5);
- two… scarves, I think, although I’ve been wearing them tied round my waist ’cause I’m “boho” like that. One’s blue and cream stripey, and one’s pink with silver thread through it, and I got them both for a fiver;
- a new bra from Bravissimo. Which was not in the sale, but was still very necessary. The uber-boobs are now a 32E. “I’ve got a friend that size who got a reduction on the NHS,” said my Rob.
I meant to stay in on Saturday night but ended up going through to Cumbernauld for a family gathering for my cousin’s 21st birthday. I’m so far behind with Casualty I could even tell you who’s still in it, but as the last thing I remember is Abs doing the Full Monty that’s probably a good thing. Anyway it was a fantastic night, I keep forgetting the entire clan are the best fun in the world. Mad as anything obviously, but brand new every one of them. And my uncle Boab mixes the best ever G&T.
I’d half-intended to spend a day at the cinema over the weekend (which is something I do every so often since I keep forgetting I have a UGC card/evening showings tend to be 5pm or 8pm; which is useless if you finish at 5.30); but instead killed a few hours before meeting Fi seeing The Producers. I’ve seen neither the original movie nor the musical, but the impression I got was of a musical directly transported onto the big screen without any major rewrites. And it worked, if you like that sort of thing. Certainly I was laughing so hard tears were streaming down my face. I doubt the hugeness of musical acting – lots of BIG gestures and BIG facial expressions and LOUD voices and BIG set pieces – would be to everybody’s taste though.
The lights were out at King Tuts, and indeed on most of the street, by the time I met Fi and her mammy (the original Sheena what the Ramones sang about, don’tcherknow). Cue lots of standing about in the dark and an aborted acoustic set in the bar – before we headed outside to witness Ok Go play St Vincent Street.
And it was all going so well until the police showed up…
At which point the boys performed an impressive piece of choreography to an a cappella “Million Ways” in the rain. And I still had time for a bag of chips before making the last train home.
(I apologise for the crappiness of the camera phone pics. But hey, nobody’s offering me T in the Park press passes 
*edit* Fi’s piece from Drowned in Sound. I totally have the coolest friends.
All this, and I managed to find the time to shrink my new mittens in the tumble drier. Remind me never to buy an adult size “because I’m sure they’ll do” again. I reckon they could still use another spin. Or twelve.
And the happy doesn’t stop there – Jackie just texted me to let me know that Sleater-Kinney have rescheduled their Oran Mor date of last year to May 31st! Which date should have been my birthday funnily enough, and it’s totally going to feel like it this year.
It’s cold. I have soup. Adios.
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