Now that spring has arrived in London, apparently, The Boyf and I decided to go for a walk on Saturday after visiting the gym. I say "visiting" the gym like we go there with a bottle of wine and expect dinner, but we do occasionally lift some weights rather than just hanging around the changing rooms. Anyway, after our work-out we hopped on a tube to Hampstead and had a wander around the town and then up to the infamous Heath (little piccy taken for your pleasure (above) with my phone).
Being Saturday afternoon there wasn't any cruising, or so I thought; there were still some shady characters wandering about in the trees. Unbelievably there were people sunbathing, and we were only in t-shirt and jeans.
We visited the aviary and quacked at the ducks, went to see the alpacas and pulled faces at them, and fell a little in love with a very handsome, majestic looking stag. Oh, and with a dad walking his son. The Boyf commented, "Hmmm, he's sexy. And with a kid; the spunk tastes better when you know it works". I pulled my 'Oh-My-God-I-Can't-Believe-You-Just-Said-That-But-Actually-I-Was-Thinking-It-Too' face that I do so well and we moved on to walk around the Orangery (er... spelling anyone?).
Which brings us neatly up to Saturday evening. Now I'm not really one for crowded dancefloors. I like them busy, but I have a habit of throwing my arms around, and I like to be able to do it without knocking teeth out or spilling beer. Yes, we endured Megawoof. And yes, it was rammed to the point of being very uncomfortable. For a good couple of hours I couldn't actually do anything on the main floor other than move my head from side to side. Arms were either pinned to my side or held straight up in the air, which just looks silly unless S-Club 7's "Reach" comes on, which at Megawoof never happens. I imagine even the RVT might stop playing that song after the Jo O'Meara debacle. I combated the heaving dancefloor by standing at the bar alot, which resulted in me getting very drunk.
We went with OBM#1 and 2, and just about everyone else we knew turned up; The God, Daddy, The Greek, and a few other friends who I've not mentioned yet but will no doubt turn up at some point. There was also an unusually large amount of men we wanted to sleep with, but for some reason it wasn't happening (possibly because it was too much effort to manoeuvre close to anyone), although I do recollect ending up in a toilet cubicle with someone for longer than was probably polite considering the queue.
Yesterday I asked The Boyf whether we'd enjoyed ourselves. I couldn't quite work it out for myself. It seems that all in all we did, although I have to say it was more effort than enjoyment in my book. Still, I bet we end up going back next month.
Being Saturday afternoon there wasn't any cruising, or so I thought; there were still some shady characters wandering about in the trees. Unbelievably there were people sunbathing, and we were only in t-shirt and jeans.
We visited the aviary and quacked at the ducks, went to see the alpacas and pulled faces at them, and fell a little in love with a very handsome, majestic looking stag. Oh, and with a dad walking his son. The Boyf commented, "Hmmm, he's sexy. And with a kid; the spunk tastes better when you know it works". I pulled my 'Oh-My-God-I-Can't-Believe-You-Just-Said-That-But-Actually-I-Was-Thinking-It-Too' face that I do so well and we moved on to walk around the Orangery (er... spelling anyone?).
Which brings us neatly up to Saturday evening. Now I'm not really one for crowded dancefloors. I like them busy, but I have a habit of throwing my arms around, and I like to be able to do it without knocking teeth out or spilling beer. Yes, we endured Megawoof. And yes, it was rammed to the point of being very uncomfortable. For a good couple of hours I couldn't actually do anything on the main floor other than move my head from side to side. Arms were either pinned to my side or held straight up in the air, which just looks silly unless S-Club 7's "Reach" comes on, which at Megawoof never happens. I imagine even the RVT might stop playing that song after the Jo O'Meara debacle. I combated the heaving dancefloor by standing at the bar alot, which resulted in me getting very drunk.
We went with OBM#1 and 2, and just about everyone else we knew turned up; The God, Daddy, The Greek, and a few other friends who I've not mentioned yet but will no doubt turn up at some point. There was also an unusually large amount of men we wanted to sleep with, but for some reason it wasn't happening (possibly because it was too much effort to manoeuvre close to anyone), although I do recollect ending up in a toilet cubicle with someone for longer than was probably polite considering the queue.
Yesterday I asked The Boyf whether we'd enjoyed ourselves. I couldn't quite work it out for myself. It seems that all in all we did, although I have to say it was more effort than enjoyment in my book. Still, I bet we end up going back next month.
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