Regular confusions and complications for my Saturday evening,
plans were finally sorted and I was due to meet the girls at Hache on the
Fulham road for burgers and drinks before heading over to Ping in Earls Court
for birthday celebrations...
Hair sorted, Smokey eyes passable and lip gloss on, it had
been a full 10 minutes of staring at the mass of clothes on my floor (which was
killing me as I still haven’t sorted the wardrobe issue) and trying to mentally
find something suitable for burgers and then ping pong – what the hell do you
where to play ping pong in a bar but also suitable for a classy burger
restaurant? After seeking approval from Em that it was OK to go for the easy
option of the Love pink and black shift dress I wore the weekend before, which
was hanging up on the back of my door, for a second weekend in a row because
there had been no photos, I went for that and my fail safe option of white
River Island sandals and bare legs.
After an awkward bus ride with eyes glued to Google maps to
find out when I should jump off and two dirty looks at the pervy gentleman who
made very inappropriate comments I arrived only 10 minutes late and was instantly
greeted by a lovely waiter who guided me to my friend. Two cocktails and a
glass into the prosecco later we were finally joined by our other fellow
singleton and our food. Me – a falafel burger and salad, which wasn’t eaten as
I don’t actually like falafel but liked everything it came with and don’t eat
meat...weird but I didn’t want to be complicated. Arriving extremely late to ping pong, birthday girl wasn’t too impressed but cheered up after a round of
shots and drinks and another game of Ping pong...
I am crap, literally the worst ping pong player in the world
so I wasn't surprised that my skills only got worse after several shots, a lot
of drink and in heels. Anyway, I was being a sport and having fun so couldn’t
care less and actually seemed to forget that I was in a little dress when I was
scrambling on the floor searching for the balls which were flying
everywhere...definitely tipsy! After 20 minutes of poor attempts to actually
play a game, I was in need of more slushy ice cold deliciousness in the form of
a cocktail and headed for the bar. I was greeted by a weird guy, whose mates
standing behind us decided that it was acceptable to lift up my dress for the
world to see. Yet again my knickers were on show...thank god I had opted for my
French briefs rather than granny pants! A foul glare and several words of
abuse, I insisted that this warranted not just 1 but 2 drinks from the guy next
to me who feebly obliged and accepted a peck on the cheek for my disappearance
straight after! Score, 2 drinks for me!
The night ended when I decided I was
fed up of bag watching on my own in not the best place in the world while the
other 2 remaining party people were upstairs smoking their 4th fag
in the space of half an hour! Oh the joys of not polluting my lungs but only drowning
my liver instead – well we do live in London.
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