The art of mingling...

It is now three thirty am and I have just got into bed.

The girls and I, complete with a couple of token males have had a great night out, truly testament to the fact that my feet are absolutely throbbing!

Initially we went to a bar.
Now I know not all of my readers know where I live, but I have to tell you that some of the parts of the town I live in are not the most savoury of places. Just getting cash out of the machine at 9pm made me look a bit nervously around...however, apart from being accosted and sung to by a couple of drunks, B and I made our way to the bar.

Nice bar...bit of music, friendlyish type of people, until you start looking closer and listening to some of the conversations...it was like drinking in Jeremey Kyle's world...B and I are thankful that we weren't born here and decided that we were a right pair of snobs...I feel the need to reassure my readers that we live on the outskirts, yes the outskirts of town, and most of the time we never get to meet such colourful characters.

But oh my god...the police pulled up outside, someone started an argument with them, someone got in the back of the car...we sipped our drinks and watched the whole scene unfold before our very eyes.

Maybe it is time I moved?

B decided at one point that we needed to mingle.
Really? Did I have to?
She explained that it was time I mingled and weaved me between the gentlefolk to find someone to chat to. We were pounced on by some random chap who insisted he was a fireman by trade...yeah right...he was a tosser and I decided right there and then, that mingling sucks.

Anyway, thankfully we moved onto the bottle throwing, arse grabbing nightclub. It didn't bode well when we entered to some glass being smashed on the floor and a load of twenty year olds laying face down on the dance floor...however it was good music and I will dance around anyone if I need to.

Apparently, I am informed, I am not a bad dancer...which genuinely was a bit of surprise to me. I only ever dance alone as a rule, so obviously my years of kitchen dancing has paid off. Clearly something I must do more often.

We danced solid for three hours...possibly one of the best work outs I have ever had. My chest is now sore from the smoke machine, and my feet and thighs are killing me from wearing such high heels to dance in...but bloody hell it was so what I needed.

I didn't think about anything. I just danced and flirted with B...she's a good catch I'll have you know! I only had my arse slapped once by some oik, and needless to say I made it very clear that he would see righty (as someone I know would say) should he choose to do it again.

I have now done the nightclub drop off, being designated driver and all..and we sung Footloose on the way home in the car. I have made a cup of tea and had a muffin (alas the bread kind) and I am now safely back in my bed having checked on the hobbits and the babysitter.

Now if only I could be arsed to take my make up off then all really would be well.