Sicky

As I predicted on Saturday night after such a huge party I knew I would be sick this week. I thought we all would be because we went too hard for our poor bodies that are getting old. So I wasn't too surprised when I woke up on Tuesday with a sore throat. Slowly this has progressed to a nose that alternates between stuffy and runny, and a head that tends to feel a little full.

I was quite happy to take on these consequences of having such a great weekend and it wasn't until yesterday that I realised it wasn't actually my fault at all. It was Maggie! She had a runny nose all night, and then the two hours of sleep we had I spent with my head right next to her stuffy snoring nose.

So I'm not getting old after all.

What a relief!

Bok Bok

You know it's Spring when the smell of jasmine is in the air.

And all the chickens are out, or in this case.........hens.

Saturday/night was Kate's hens. Beginning at 9 am for some it was a full on day and night on the hottest September day on record. Ok, I may have made that fact up, but it was still 30 degrees at 8 at night. Unheard of!

The girls met B and I at the shop for little bo-peep stylie Bride action,

then eventually on to Edinburgh Gardens for the 'prohibited penis parephernalia' part of the day.

Then preparations for the most beautiful 21 person dinner ever.

Our very own private dining room at Bar Lourinha, upstairs from all the serfs who had to watch us parade through the rest of the bar.

Listening to their hushed whispers of "For my hens do NOT make me wear a veil like that". Hilarious! We were having the best time ever.

From the moment we sat down and tasted the olives we knew we were destined for something great. A seemingly neverending parade of tasty tapas and champagne and wine and then topping it all off with the blood orange crema. It was the most amazingly rich and sweet dessert ever, and I love amazingly rich and sweet but I couldn't even finish half of it.

Luckily I had the chance to dance it off at the tackiest sleaziest bar. Weirdos and sleazeballs aside it was the perfect venue for a trashy, dancey, champagney, singy, girly party.

Then one final stop to bring us back up to an acceptable level of class. A trendy art deco cocktail bar popular with people 'either trendy or gay'.

A few pairs of feet in excruciating pain, a few spinning heads, some very full bellies and a long wait at the taxi rank later and we were tucked away in our slumber party beds ready for a couple hours of sleep before the beginning of a new day.