Gossip, giggles and diabetes...

I am neglecting people.

Alas, I am aware of this, as I have had notifications of people's birthdays that I have missed and have barely spoken to anyone on the telephone for over a week.

I am also neglecting myself a little bit. Don't worry, I did at least have time to purchase new tweezers for my Denis Healy eyebrows this week, having lost said tweezers to the hobbits and their new found discovery of how good they are at getting in-between stuck Lego bricks. I also dyed my hair - but other than that everything else has pretty much gone to pot.

Most evenings I have been squirrelling away at writing and I am now aiming for 10,000 words a week in order to get the first draft ready for rehashing/editing by November. So I am stuck in front of my laptop most of the time, headphones in ears so that I am not distracted by text messages or Facebook notifications.

However, all work makes for a very dull wondering woman, so last night I hit the town with the very colourful and entertaining A.

She is entertaining because she is intelligent, funny and a bit daft - all sound qualities in my book; and she is colourful not because her use of the English language is blue (although she can swear like a sailor when required), but because she sports a very decent barnet with no less than than three different colours in it. She confessed to me that tourists have even stopped her and asked her to pose for a photograph such is the design...but she also became slightly alarmed much later when we got caught in the rain as she thought the dye might run.

Not a natural pink, green and purple then babe?

We decided after much deliberation that we would venture into the big smoke...and after a few dress issues, (both) underwear (mine) and train issues we met at London Victoria with scenes reminiscent of an old black and white movie.  Well, not quite but it sounded good and I wanted to put it in.

First things first - food. After wandering around trying to think of something that inspired us, we found ourselves in a bit of a dither - for gods sake don't ask either of us to make an executive decision.
However, we finally settled on pizza.
"Ok, what are the plans for the night?" I ask enjoying my first and only beer for the evening. "Are we staggering off to some night club? Latching onto a stag do and catching the first train back in the morning?"
"Hmm - we could do. Alternatively we could just google something, see what takes our fancy and get the last train back?"

Hmm...I liked the sound of that more and no matter how much I try and pretend, the fact is I am so not rock n roll anymore...not that I am entirely sure that I ever was.

We can't decide where to head out to, however at this point a lovely looking young squaddy walks past the restaurant window.
"Oh where is he going? We could follow him?" I suggest.
"I think that's stalking, not following."
"Yeah, and? Your point is?"
She shrugs as if actually there isn't one and the pair of us watch him wander away.
"There is always the army barracks."
I look at her surprised, "We can go there?"Wow it feels like an Officer and a Gentleman all over again.
"Nope, but we could find out where they drink."
"How?"
"I have a friend who I can text." Which she does, but alas no immediate reply.
"Google it."
"Oh yes," so she googles 'Where do soldiers go to drink in London'. Amazingly it predicts it before she has even finished, clearly we are not the only ones who have thought of this before.

Alas, it all seems a bit too far away for the time that we have and eventually after asking the waiter, who informed us that we were cool enough to go to Brixton, get us...we eventually decide on pottering over to Soho.

It is a great atmosphere; people wandering around just enjoying the evening, listening to someone playing bongos at the side of the road and lots of happy people. Pootle would love it here.

We even come across a Catholic Nightclub. Hmm, really? Alas we weren't tempted and instead plumped for a cocktail bar, where we threw them into disarray by ordering two cokes (told you we were hard core); hung around G-A-Y just in case we saw Kylie Minogue arriving and ordering the biggest, meanest milkshake from an American diner.

"You know I think this milkshake may just be the best ever," says A as we slurp away happily on the tube on the way back.
"I agree."
"A heady tone of chocolate and ice cream, with an undercurrent of diabetes."
"Hell yeah. What would an evening be without the potential of contracting a terminal condition?"

It was just what the doctor ordered. The evening that is, not the diabetes inducing milkshake. An evening of gossip, giggles and diabetes - what more could a girl ask for?

Let's do it again soon my intelligent, colourful friend - but next time I need to bring Pootle - not only would she have loved the evening, but as a nurse she will also be incredibly useful for those hyperglycaemic attacks on the train home.