Another childhood ambition realised: I saw the Bangles live. Am still swooning. Sadly, I also got to watch Peter Andre live. Am not swooning over that at all, but apparently he's still got a scarily large fanbase. And he had three number one hits? I can only recall one, but he kept telling us these other two songs were also number one - although he carefully failed to tell us in what country this occurred in.
Last week I launched an expedition to Edinburgh, safari suited and pith helmeted to the max, to find an Amanda and to see if I could drink more tea than ever before. Successful on all counts. And I also got to attend Retrofest, dressed in a hot pink ra-ra skirt, with matching leather belt and lipstick and a variety of other attractive 80s paraphernalia. I was so hot. As were the many, many people who were wearing 'Frankie says Relax' or 'Save Ferris' t-shirts. Full points to the woman in her late forties who was wearing a black ra-ra skirt that barely covered her bottom, fishnet tights and a white g-string. We saw it all. I watched bits of The Breakfast Club, Top Gun (why do people find Tom Cruise attractive?) and the last hour of Ghost. And stood in mud for several hours watching the likes of Nik Kershaw and Bjorn Again, the Abba tribute band that got the most cheers and dancing drunkards on the day. I queued for toilets, which was not fun. Drank very sweet cider and sat in a sandpit. A mildly intoxicated man dressed in a pink tutu told me my hair (imagine a palm tree sprouting from my head) was the most authentic 80s hair he'd ever seen. Got home at 1.30am completely sober and very tired but pleased to find that my boots were mud-proof. Sadly, the next day I discovered that they are not waterproof. I cannot work out how this can be.
Caught up with Hannah, of working in China at the same school as me fame. We had two hours of snorting with laughter at the bizarre lifestyle we lived there, whilst enduring the worst customer service ever, sadly commited by a New Zealander, eating an absolutely pathetic attempt at pancakes with fruit compote and three sauces. When translated this meant three pikelets, one strawberry and five blackcurrants and, when requested, manky maple syrup. We did not tip.
Last week saw the passing through of many people, en route to a wedding, so there was much catching up and kissing on the cheeks and squealing for joy, and pie and pints. I miss people.
Skye turned 32, so she, Mike and I got gussied up and then ordered in Chinese takeaways and watched the documentary Designer Vaginas. Fascinating topic ruined by the worst presenter ever. And if, at the age of ten, someone had told me that in twenty years, I and Mike, son of my Sunday School teacher, would be watching a programme about ladies' bits, I'd have ... well, probably not done much at all, really, but I might have been suprised.