The other bits

Ok so I went away on Saturday. Over night. Yes you heard me right. That’s the second night away from the children in seven years. I am rock and roll. Which was further evidenced by my destination which was Gibson’s Rock Bar in York. But more on that in a minute.

I do actually love it when a plan comes together. I’d been trying to fix a date with some friends for a while when it turned out one of them was due to come and play with his band in York. I did wonder briefly about not mentioning it and just jumping out in a Cilla Black Surprise Surprise fashion. But I realised in good time that I did actually need to know the venue so I thought I’d better ask him in advance. Fortunately my proposed attendance didn’t make them change their plans.

My university housemate lives in Knaresborough and clearly he couldn’t think of an excuse not to put me up fast enough, which was good news. Another university friend was free as well as another lovely friend from a previous workplace. It was turning into a veritable reunion. Well for me anyway.

We started in a real ale pub and reminisced about university. It seems we have taken to saying we met in Hull 15 years ago. It’s actually 19 years but I’m more than happy to join in and pretend I’m actually still 33.

During the conversation we discussed young people who see eating as cheating when on a night out. I have never subscribed to this idea. I like food too much. We went to a Thai restaurant. On arrival it was clear that there were no customers. There was not an occupied seat in the house. The staff sucked air through their teeth because we hadn’t booked. Either that or we looked shifty. We promised to eat fast.

We went via another grown up pub to the Navacross gig at Gibson’s Rock Bar. Which is apparently owned by a Pigeon Detective. The conversation that followed included homing pigeon theft. It was that kind of a night.

Despite the fact that one of the bands playing had a volume knob that went up to at least 23 we had fun chatting (when they’d stopped playing obviously – you can’t talk about pigeons if you can’t hear yourself think) and drinking cocktails. I haven’t been in a bar that does deals on cocktails for quite some time but apparently Micklegate is the hen and stag capital of York.

They wouldn’t let me buy a cocktail with the word alligator in it which was probably for the best.

Now, I am a bit biased but, Navacross were brilliant. We danced a lot despite me choosing to wear heels. We all wished they had been on for longer. Hopefully they will come up and play in Sheffield soon to give me another excuse to see my friends and to dance and drink cocktails. Or, more probably, beer. And I’ll be wearing flats.

After lots of hugs we eventually left and waited in a taxi office. All it needed was a man who struggled to breathe while changing gear and I’d have been back in Hull in 1997. Back at the house we had tea and toast (without dairylea sadly) at two in the morning. We used to do that in 1997 too.

Despite the tea I was a bit drunk – I don’t mind admitting it. The result was I went to bed with my supportive underwear on (just call me Bridget). I woke at least eight times dreaming I was on a health farm being forced to squeeze into size eight clothing. I’ve spent the following two days wearing jogging bottoms in protest.

I tried to leave Knaresborough at lunch time but I’d left my lights on. My friend graciously let me back into his house and made me a further two cups of tea.

It took an hour and a half for the mechanic to arrive and thirty seconds to start the car. I must buy some jump leads. Or just remember to turn my lights off.

I got home without it snowing or running out of diesel. Then I watched Nanny McPhee.

This night might not seem so incredible. To people who go out a lot it wouldn’t. To me it was remarkable. Planning that worked, wonderful friends, good music and only minor issues with lycra and headlights. Brilliant.

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