Saturday, 2 October 2010

For the love of girls

Lovely Boy is currently in Munich indulging in that annual paean of all things male excess otherwise known as Oktoberfest. Beer, schnitzel, pork knuckle and more beer, where atmosphere means a roller coaster and an oompa loompa band and civility doesn't necessarily mean the use of cutlery. I struggle to envision anything less appealing than an overcrowded tent full of drunk men and rotisserie meats but then perhaps I'm just a snob. I prefer to think it's that I'm a discerning female but whatever floats your boat... Either way, I've had a lovely couple of days.

In the absence of all things sausage, my lovely friend Tor, who also lost her husband to the lure of the lederhosen, and I opted for the ultimate girls night in on Thursday. Cue white wine, chicken salad - expertly cooked by Tors - and several hours on the sofa discussing everything from flower arrangements to the misunderstood genuis of Gossip Girl. In a tribute to our feminist foremothers, the girl even worked out how to download the new season's first episode from the internet. An accomplishment recognised with another glass of vino and maybe even a small high five...

Then, yesterday we took off for Mecca, otherwise known as Westfield White City, in search of warm woollens, a good meal and some well-earned afternoon trash courtesy of Julia and Javier. Tors is not a food goddess for nothing and at her suggestion we took to Jamie's Italian for pasta and a sneaky glass of wine out of the rain. I'm not sure if it was the pinot grigio, the robust sleep I'd had the night before in the absence of LBB's melodic snoring, the reclining chair or the warm fuzz of happiness that is having one of my bestest most dearest friends now in London but bloody hell, not even Julia Roberts having some quasi-religious orgasm over a bowl of pasta could keep my eyes from closing. Eat, Pray, Love? More like Eat, Nap, Love.

Tonight I'm off to see Arthur Miller's All My Sons at the Apollo with an old family friend, with dinner at Hix in Soho, before coming home to finish a job application (don't hold your breath) and another article for Artlink.

The house is tidy, there are flowers in a vase, diet coke in the fridge and freshly purchased woollens stacked tidily in the drawer. Ignoring the lack of serious income for a moment, life could be a hell of a lot worse.

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