A week in the City

You know those green tags you get to hold wads of paper together? Treasury tags? Yeah? I got one of them holding my trousers up. I sat down in front of a class of teenagers (we were trying to answer some why questions; why do people open the window? Why do people put ice in their drinks? Real toughies. Real toughies to this class anyway) and pop! went not the weasel but the button at the top of my brown cords. That’s what you get for buying clothes in Primark. And for another week of cider drinking and cake munching. Grrrrr. So start the day in humiliation, it can only get worse, right? Well actually it didn’t get too much worse. In fact, it got a lot better; I popped into John Lewis on the way home and bought a bag full of wool to knit a new jumper. When did I get so old?

This weekend was full of people making me feel old. First my friend turns 27 (still a year younger than me) and asks, “How’s your love life Zilpha?”
“Dead. I was seeing someone but now I’m not.”
“Was he much younger than you?”
“What? No! why?”
“Cos they usually are.” And then she reels off a list of losers, invariably younger. Hmph.

Well before I started feeling totally fat and decrepit Pippa and I fly to Glasgow. The bus to Stanstead takes longer than the flight. Its all so exciting! Well, not for Pippa. She was terrified. I couldn’t’ stop giggling. Not every helpful, but take offs are hilarious and way more fun than rollercoasters. We land and Glasgow is almost sunny. For saying I slept on the bus, the plane and the train I’m knackered. We make it as far as cocktails on Sauchiehall Street and totally miss Errors DJing. Nevermind, Saturday is what its all about: The Rakes are in town woohooo! We manage to squeeze in a museum, the School of Art, a fabric warehouse (yes, I’m a total geek), tea in the Mackintosh Tea Rooms a Chinese and an interview with our favourite skinny London art rockers. Sound checks are boring as hell aren’t they? We wait an hour “for the band to have showers” according to tour manager Ash Brown (his actual, real name) even though I rang Jamie and know he’s in the pub with Alan. Just as I think about having a little sleep on the skany sofa Lasse walks in. “I just need to have a shower,” he says. Yawn. Lasse and Chris entertain us in the dressing room with cups of tea and awkward silences waiting for the others to arrive. When they do it’s a whirlwind of “Morrissey came to see us last night!” and tales of drunken fist fights and flying pints of lager on the rest of the tour. “Zilpha, can you do me a favour?” asks Jamie, coyly.
“erm I suppose so. Only if its sexual”
“If I make a cup of tea can you give it to Ash?”
“ok then what?”
“no that’s the joke. Give him a tea and a biscuit and say ‘I know you like a brew at this time’”
The rest of them stifle guffaws. I strongly suspect the joke is on me but do it anyway. Ash accepts his tea and bourbon with grace. The rest of them roll around laughing. I have no idea what that was all about but they can come play practical jokes on me any time. I do like a bourbon (a bit too much judging by my current waistline).

The rest of the evening was spent in the company of two older locals who promised us a night of Galswegian binge drinking. Pippa is on a mission to find a deep fried mars bar. We fail with the urban legend but to get the Galswegians hammered and begging for the beds by 2am, not before we sample a local old man’s pub (Queen karaoke :s) and a soul night which was like gatecrashing someone else’s bad taste wedding.
Sunday, spent eating even more and hoping to feel better soon. The heel falls off my new Office shoes and I spend the rest of the time hobbling unevenly hoping noone notices. Glasgow for all my love has some amazing vegan cafes. Hmmmmmm cake.

I get home and the kitchen ceiling is still drip drip drip drip dripping through the light fixture. Hmmmm. Make a mental note to never turn the light on again.

Monday, Tuesday, same old same old. Wednesday the Rakes at Koko! Yeeha! I spend more of the day on the phone or email trying to get guestlist tickets than actually doing any work. (shhhh don’t tell my boss). But we were promised! Phew eventually they arrive. 5pm (in a vegan café stuffing my face with cake again) a text comes from Jamie, “sure you want the tickets? Cos my mates do too.” Oh noes! We got here first. We give it some welly on the front row. Someone has to keep the crowd going, right? On the way out the bouncer says, “you girls not going to the aftershow.” Aftershow? Oh well if you insist. Point us in the direction of the party! Yeah party! I get hammered (once again) with Jamie’s ex, while Pippa stays sober and serene. I feel like the awkward out of place one in a room full of beautiful people who instinctively know how to dance while I can only wonder what the hell I’m doing here. Suddenly its not so much fun.

On the way home I meet two new cats. Both black and white, one with a tail one without. We make friends. I sit on the pavement stroking them for about an hour. Dear lord. Work in the morning.

Thursday, to be honest, my head has felt better, I drag myself through my day. Oh for sleep. But no. Now its my turn to be horrified. I stupidly arranged a work night out on the London Eye. Sounds lovely, I’m shit scared of heights. I turn green everyone laughs and my head aches from the strain of not being sick. No sooner have we hit the ground than we’re off running to the next Rakes secret (not so secret party). Its ok, but why are the Rifles headlining? They remind me of Robtheknob (rtk). The bassist looks like Rossthetoss (r=t). This is no fun. Ex-boyfriend hell. Pippa ain’t loving it either. All a bit Kasabian. So we leave early. I am once again a bit drunk. How the hell did that happen? Drunk enough to get home and text rtk. He’s awfully friendly. As he is, until it involves actually turning up for something. Now I’m confused again. Do I still like him or not? Bollocks. I think I passed out.

Fridays don’t count. I’m mainly on time for work. Well ok, 20 minutes late. Again. The evening is spent baking and grateful to have a night in. Saturday is the day of the Posh vs Chav picnic. I am of course posh. Well, its hard to be a chav when you can’t eat fish fingers or sausage rolls or trifle. Hence the baking. I made delicious ginger cupcakes with lemony frosting. Hmmmm cake. Pack a bottle of apricot wine and off we go! Either chavs have been banished or everyone decided to side with Evelyn Waugh: this is like Brideshead Revisted with more Bakewell Tarts in cricketing whites (and that caused a fight). Stop off on the pub on the way home and funnily enough I’m a bit drunk again. I should go to a super trendy club with a super trendy friend but I just aint feeling super trendy. I’m feeling fat, gin soaked, grass stained and fugly. Its nice to have a cat on my knee and a chill out on a Saturday for a change. The cat goes out for the night and then it’s just me. 10pm. Probably a bit late to get changed and go anywhere now. A bit early for bed. When did I get so old?