|My pre-Birthday Weekend
||[Jun. 18th, 2007|09:51 am]
Was great fun! Got on the coach to London late Friday night and made it back to Harrow in time to watch some rubbish Jonathan Ross and another idiotic show, The Friday night project because dad took out Sky for the summer after the football ended (not that we would have found anything of value there).
Saturday woke up early for a day of female pampering better described as pain. Went to have my eyebrows done and then to the Polish staffed hairdresser in Harrow with my mum. We both walked out with something we didn't really intend to have, but I don't think either of us are too upset with the results. We then went with all the family to shop for birthday goodies for work for Tuesday, Iri to "plenish" her supply for her first ever Glastonbury. Myself, I'd happily pay not to be subjected to such bestival torture, but I hope for her sake that at least she'll have a dry one (unlikely)or that she goes well prepared for it (even more unlikely)
When we got home, Iri started to bake me a cake before she realised that of all the things, we neglected to buy self-raising flour on the word of our mum that we had some at home. This was a lesson we should have learnt before, do not ask mum about cooking ingredients, she's not the person to know of such things. So dad gave her a quick lift back to the supermarket and the cake baking started in earnest before she broke the mixer by putting in an almost frozen pack of butter. Even our dad's engineering skills didn't help, but miracle of miracles, she mixed the batter using the metal chopping blades and alas there was a cake. And what a cake, a strawbery, yogurty, Italian cream, three layered, almondy cake which we had on Sunday.
But back to Saturday...It looked like our going out plans had to be scaled down slightly and that there wouldn't be any pubage before going out, which was just as well that before we knew it it was already 7.30. We got ready and at quarter to 9 we left Harrow and headed out to Great Portland Street to Rumba Caribe, a twice-monthly club which promised to play just the stuff I like: latin, reggaeton, hip-hop, dancehall and other exotic flavours. Before I left I e-mailed the club a list of names for the guestlist for £5 entry before 10 pm. My three friends from Oxford who were going to drive there: Fran, Gemma and her sister Rosie informed me that they made it in safely by 9.45 just as our metropolitan tube which arrived at Baker Street was turning back, taking us back to Finchley Rd. With a huff and a puff we made the journey again, got off at Baker Street this time, rushed over to get on the circle line, Iri heroically stopping the train by rushing madly to the closing doors, they opened up, we sneaked in and at 9.55 we made a run for it down Great Portalnd St just in time, as the woman at the door was checking her watch, for the £5 entry!
The club is a nice size, just one room with seating enclaves at the back, and just one floor, one bar and the dj at one corner of the room. You can also see everybody coming in, and from looking around I already began to feel comfortable. Everybody looked friendly, smart, dressed with taste but relaxed, no threatening faces, no youths, and when we headed over to the bar, miracle, drinks £3 and £3.50 for a mixer. The music was nicely playing in the background and after a while we got up and danced and danced, and danced until 2pm until I could no longer stand up. And I realised with joy the music was good, varied, kept you going, didn't bore you with only one style, and everybody was there to have a good time and to dance and everybody understood that. You weren't approached by anyone, and if somebody asked you to dance, you could politely say no, or turn around and they understood it. There was a mixed crowd, white kids, black kids, latinos, others, and everyone was having a great time, and the calories we burned! It was nice and refreshing being in a club which was about music and the love of music and was priced fairly. Actually we didn't even need drinks, because it got so hot and after all that dancing we just switched to tap water which they happily served to you with ice! Must retun and visit at least once a month.
The beautiful thing was that afterwards our bed was 3 minutes away from the club, at James' place on Warren Street where me and Iri had a sweet sleep and didn't get up until 10.30 altough we would have happily slept till one if we haven't promised our parents we'll return home promptly the next day.
At home, as they opened up the door, a home made rhubab pie was waiting on the table, we ate it hot, hot, hot and then it was time to open up the presents! This year I got a digital camera to get myself in with the rest of the world and a myriad of other great presents: books from dad and Iri, clothes, and other little toys and trinklets. They are all lovely and I will put them all to good use.
After a short nap in the garden, we went to buy some meat for the barbeque as we decided that the moody weather wasn't going to stop us, and then we marinated, made salads, new potatoes and at 4pm Oly came over and we sat down and ate, ate, ate. Then we had cake and champagne, put on a DVD that Iri bought dad for Father's Day which we almost forgot and the sugar rush meant that everyone bar poor Oly was asleep within the next 10/20 mins, or in Iri's case in the next 30/40. When we woke up we had seconds, and then proceeded to ask Oly about everything and everyone from our and his past, and this talking went on until 11pm, then we tried to play cards, and fool around, and joke, and speak like in the good old days until 12 when Oly had to leave to feed his cats, we read a bit and then went to bed about 1 as I had to wake up at 6 and return to Oxford and to work.
My boss is away all week, so it's going to be a fun-relaxed week with more to come, including my official birthday tomorrow,which like the Queen I shall celebrate twice. Oh yes.