Educational Activities

Well, the trip to the Eco Park with Mini Adult and the others was certainly educational, but not necessarily in the way I thought it was going to be. Looking back, I think the two main lessons yesterday were How To Effectively Embarrass The Kids and How Not To Get Out Of A Pedallo.

The Eco Park was fun, somewhat educational for the kids but, as is often the case, more so for the supposed grown up’s. It was in the section all about land and farming that my first lesson took place.

There was a display of animated vegetables singing a very catchy song about how cool they were. The problem was that Best Friend and I could not resist dancing, much to Mini Adult’s and The Cool Kid’s shame. Of course, the more disapproving and embarrassed they looked, the more this encouraged us. It is lucky that neither Best Friend or I have any problem with making idiots of ourselves in public: the disapproval radiating from the kids and the realization that we had in fact attracted a much wider audience of other visitors may have stopped less hardy souls, but not us. As Mini Adult and The Cool Kid scuttled away from our foot stamping and hip shaking, we heard mutterings of “You just can’t take them anywhere” and “Let’s pretend they’re not with us”. Oh, and for those of you that know of my burlesque ambitions you will be pleased that the, much needed, improvement in my sense of rhythm has been achieved through farmyard music!

After lunch, the kids agreed to acknowledge our existence again (it’s amazing the power having the ice cream money can have!) and decided that we would all go on a pedallo. It was a lot of fun, though I was worried about the fact that I had already had about 2 years worth of exercise in a couple of weeks and that pedalling one of these things around a lake may just finish me off! Best Friend and Mini Adult had beaten me and The Cool Kid in a race and it was time to get back on dry land. This is when I had my second lesson of the day.

As The Cool Kid was on the dock side of the pedallo, she jumped out first and went to wait with the others. This left me in the situation of having to get myself over two seats and the steering column, all in a rocking bit of plastic! It did not go well. After swaying about for a few minutes and wheeling my arms around in an attempt to keep my balance, I eventually gave up and crawled across and up on to the dock on my hands and knees – not my most elegant exit at all, though everyone else seemed to find it highly amusing! Let this be a lesson for all of you, if you are not the most athletic of people and find yourself on a pedallo, then when you land make sure you are on the dock side and save yourself the indignity.

Adventures in the City

I spent yesterday in London with Mr Flirt; we were both off work so went for an adventure. There was no real plan about where we wanted to go or what we wanted to do, so we spent the day following the ‘Which way looks more exciting’ trail, with the occasional ‘flip the coin, that will tell us’ when all ways looked good. I have to admit that the day was also punctuated with quite a few pub pit stops for refreshments!

We walked for miles and covered a lot of places. Neither of us felt like doing the culture thing (the extent of that was a very good classical group playing in Covent Garden and then walking past Buckingham Palace, good old Liz was there but didn’t invite us in for a cup of tea!) so we roamed around a lot, looking at the people and generally mucking about. We did go on a carousel though, you know, the old fashioned ones with the horses that go up and down. We were the only adults on there that didn’t have a kid as an excuse, but that’s never been a problem in my book.

One of the themes for the day was all things ‘Shameless’ (look here for an explanation if you have no idea what I’m talking about). Mr Flirt specialises in a fine range of accents, including a bloody good Manqunian one. We were walking through a park, deciding that we should be lager louts, when Mr Flirt realised we had neither cans of Stella or a dog. There was little we could do about the larger, but I decided that I could act like a dog and did some random barking and growling as necessary (this is always fun, I love seeing people’s faces as they try to decide whether to laugh or start worrying).

There was also the interesting moment where we realised that my bra can double up as a bungee rope. We were about to cross a road and as I stepped out, I found myself being hauled back onto the pavement with a definite bounce. I hadn’t seen a motor bike coming round the corner, Mr Flirt had grabbed the first part of me he could, which happened to be my bra. I was most impressed by the fact that he had been able to do this and make sure that it stayed done up!

Our final adventure for the day was causing a bit of mayhem on the train home. I have to admit that by this stage I was really quite drunk (Mr Flirt not so much, having sobered a bit on the long walk to the train station) and in the mood for mischief. The late trains back have always got some interesting passengers on, first we met Drunk Bloke Being Sick, his girlfriend was not amused, though we were. Luckily, Mr Flirt and I are well prepared for these situations (not based on our own experiences obviously!) and found an empty cup for him to be sick in to and then provided him with a soft drink and chewing gum. Next came Drunk Girl With The Green Mac, she was funny and provided a bit of girlie talk. As we approached home, Mr Flirt decided to treat the carriage to his special Gay Icon rendition of The Pussycat Doll’s “Don’t cha…”, complete with t-shirt knotted up to show off his midriff. I have to say, that image will stay with me for a long time to come…

Before anyone gets the wrong idea, I would just like to clarify that though some of what Mr Flirt and I got up to could be classed as non-PC, it was all completely harmless, no one was hurt or offended and no manqunians, chavs or lager louts were harmed in the course of the day.

Not so bonded after all.

How many of you have been on those team bonding days that involve maps, games and ‘building trust in each other’. Hell, aren’t they? I’ve never liked them and have usually been the one that has been desperately trying to find a way out of it all. However, there was one that was fantastic. I can’t say that it bonded the team, but I had a brilliant time.

This was back when Best Friend and I used to work together and our boss was Mr Playmate. The bigger boss, The Wee Bald Man, had decided that we should have a staff day out to ‘regroup’. There was much debate between the active (Mr Playmate was all for something to do with boats – I heard exercise and stopped listening) and the cultural (The Posh Chav was after the theatre or an art gallery – they have their place and I do enjoy them, but this wasn’t a school trip). All Best Friend and I wanted to do was to go to Cadbury World (for those that don’t know look here, all I can say is you won’t believe the amount of free chocolate involved!). Somehow, and I’m still not sure how, we got The Wee Bald Man on our side and it was decided; we were off to Cadbury World!

A great day was not had by all. Whilst Best Friend, The Wee Bald Man and I ran around, completely hyped up on a sugar overdose, Mr Playmate traipsed around permanently attached to his mobile and The Posh Chav alternated between trying to control our manic attacks on the chocolate samples and engage our interest in the ‘very educational’ side of the history of chocolate. Near the end is a small train that takes you through a story land of chocolate heaven, there are even dancing cocoa beans. Halfway round a picture is taken automatically. We had to laugh when we saw it; in the front carriage was The Wee Bald Man, Best Friend and I, looking like we’d taken a serious amount of speed. In the carriage behind us were Mr Playmate and The Posh Chav, looking like they’d entered a new circle of Dante’s Hell (all of this was just before the train broke down and us sugar-hyped people started getting freaked out as the cocoa beans seemed to turn from happy, friendly things to something out of a horror film, but that’s another story).

The journey home was interesting, The Posh Chav was sulking as those of us full from chocolate had not been able to eat our lunch and were now crashed out from a sugar-rush comedown. The Wee Bald Man was driving, whilst fighting his and so was not in the best of moods. When we finally got back, there only seemed to be one solution – we hit the pub! Chocolate and alcohol, what a great day…

That's one way to make an impression!

There are times when it is not safe to let me out in public, especially if you’re trying to make a good impression. A few weeks ago I was at Best Friend’s new house. She had only moved in a few days before so was trying to show the New Neighbours that they were a nice family. Best Friend should have known that there were dangers to having me over so soon.

Miss Nice As Pie and I had gone round to celebrate the new house over dinner and a few bottles. All was going well, the meal had been lovely (Best Friend’s Bloke had also joined us, which is rare but pleasurable when it happens – he makes me laugh!), the weather was nice and we were suitably celebrating Best Friends rise to House With a Garden status. We were sat in the kitchen, which leads straight out into the garden, so we were only a few feet away from the New Neighbours, who were out in their garden with their little boy – it was all very ‘suburbia’.

The evening had started quite early, I had come straight from work and we cracked open a bottle more or less as soon as we got in. Because of this, the conversation got round to sex sooner than normal. We had music on and were talking about various things when the CD ended. Unfortunately this happened just at the point to allow New Neighbours to hear the end of my sentence. All they would have heard from Best Friends house was “…anal sex”. Cue shocked silence from New Neighbours, Miss Nice As Pie rolling on the floor crying with laughter and Best Friend not sure whether to laugh or apologise.

It may have been ok until I was over there again a couple of days later. Best Friend and I had been sitting in the garden and were about to go out. As we stood up to get ready, I realised I had been sat on wet grass and now had an attractive damp patch on my jeans. As it was a nice sunny day I decided to let nature do its job and bent over, arse in the air, to let the sun work its magic. Unfortunately I hadn’t paid attention to the fact that my bum was now facing New Neighbours garden. As I glanced through my legs, all I could see was an upside down Mr New Neighbour, looking very red as he scurried back inside…

Best Friend is more than aware of this trait of mine, having been through many moments of public embarrassment with me. I’m not allowed to go to family events that include the straighter side of her family, for everyone’s safety and sanity. She normally finds it all very amusing (at my expense!), but it may have been a bit too soon to unleash me on new people!

You dancin' ?

Dancing. You’re either a natural or not, you either have rhythm or not. I am not a natural dancer, nor do I have rhythm! The only times since I was 14 that I have danced in public have been when I have been very drunk or, when I was younger, under the influence of something more chemical based! Now, the extent of my dancing in public is a chair wiggle or, if I’m feeling adventurous, I will attempt a sort of shuffling feet, shaking hips, jiggle thing – believe me when I say it’s worse than watching your Dad dance.

When I was a kid I was sent to ballet. I didn’t do well at all and my teacher was despairing. Not only could I not get the moves but I was quite a tubby kid and, in my little pink tutu, I resembled a miniature hippo stomping round the studio! When I was about 12, the school I went to then had ‘dance’ as part of the P.E curriculum. My ballet days came back to haunt me. Though I was now much slimmer, I still couldn’t dance and could only watch those blessed with talent strutting their stuff whilst I still stomped round the room, even if I was now more giraffe like than hippo.

So there’s a large part of me that can’t believe what I am about to tell you. Best Friend and I are going to do this course. It’s one of four workshops, increasing in difficulty, run by the Ministry of Burlesque. I’ve been fascinated with Burlesque for ages now and would love to learn how to do it properly, it’s really sexy but without being sleazy at all. Also, the women are stunning. I never thought I’d be able to get anyone to go with me, but a few days after mentioning it to Best Friend, she said she’d like to come too. We both know that there will be a lot of both dancing and rhythm needed so we have been trying to get me up to a bearable standard by dancing in the privacy of her kitchen. I’m now at the stage where as long as I’m only moving either my feet or my arms then I can get by, both together and I’m back to stomping! At least it’s providing Best Friend with some entertainment…

I’m really looking forward to this, but have to admit, the thought of me learning the art of Burlesque and showing off my ‘moves’ makes me giggle. But what the hell – bring on the nipple tassels!