So then a weekend of semi culture, interspersed with trying to understand what the Bristol rugby refs who H introduced me to were actually saying, in between rounds of pub skittles and cans of Natch super strong ooo-arr cider. I now know where all the UK moustaches are – alive and twitching on every refs upper lip in good 'ol Brizzle.
First off, saw Precious at the flicks – the one about the (forgive me but this is how they describe it) fat, abused black teenage girl in Noo Joyzee. Not as grim as I expected and quite good, though not an out and out show stopper. Not helped by me noticing I'd lost an earring halfway through and squirming in my seat in the dark trying to find it. Suspect I looked like I had a bad case of wriggle arse scabies or was trying to retrieve elusive popcorn fragments from the depths of my anatomy… (did find it though!)
And then saw Whistle Down the Wind at the all-glamour Bristol Hippdrome. Very sweet as H's daughter Zoe was singing in it – cue one proud daddy crying at the sight of wee sproglet on stage to the point that his contact lens fell out. Ah bless! Actually quite a good show, with the blond fella Jonathan from G4 singing the male lead and some excellent girl doing the female teenage girl role. Plot's all around whether the wounded man she finds in her barn is Jesus or not. No wonder the gene pool in the American Midwest can be a bit suspect (Margo very obviously excepted) – any injured man hiding in a barn is ALWAYS an escaped convict, no matter what the play!
Then spent Sunday taking Zoe bowling and to M&S to buy a bikini. Yes, its still all very surreal but quite nice that she actually fits into two unfeasibly small pieces of triangular material when I no longer do!
And only 4 days in the office now before we head off to Stewart's in France for some catching up, skiing and over-indulgence of the edible kind.. Can we go now pleeeeeeaaaaasssse??? Sx