My day started off innocently enough, although I was greatly peeved at the fact that my beloved had been informed of the days events while I was kept in the dark - up until the point of them actually happening. I was collected by the ever wonderful Miss Crosta who took my sister and I into Cranleigh where a 2 hour bliss sesh awaited me a la manicure and pedicure from the lovely Charlotte (with a magnificent back garden). Kate and Sus sped off to organise the bikes (unknown to me then) but not before we all had a couple of delicious peach bellinis. I settled down and relaxed while my extremities were rubbed, pumiced, massaged and polished. By the end of it I was minutes from sleep and thoroughly relaxed.
Two hours after Charlotte had started on me, Kate and Sus reappeared and I was promptly put on a decorated bike, given an AWFUL 'bride-to-be' headband and ordered to follow Sus (Kate would have come with us but her bike had a puncture). Thirty minutes in and my feet looked like they belonged to a wandering tramp who wouldn't know about washing let alone a pedicure. It was an excellent ride though the countryside, the heavens opened only once and we made it in such good time to Guildford that Sus and I decided to stop off and start/finish a bottle of champagne that her Mum had provided us for the occasion. So my bum tingling (from some very thorough bruising) we sat down and tucked into strawberries, champagne and crisps.
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| From My Hen Day/Night |
About an hour later (we'll only be 15 minutes!) we arrived in Guildford and re-met Kate who by this time had met up with the wonderful Bola and the equally lush Camilla who were outside the Boatman keeping some cider entertained. I can't say I was overly thrilled at the prospect of changing my tipple from Champagne to fermented apple juice, so I didn't, instead I showed enormous self restraint and waited till we left the pub and headed over the river to a bench on the other side where we could polish off our own drinks, yippee!
Once seated, we demolished, in a very ladylike manner, the 3 remaining bottles of champagne and were serenaded by a 39 year old, dreadlocked gentleman, whose name I can't quite remember but who was known by both Bola and Susanna. It was a truly lovely afternoon despite my lovely little sister having to depart (I had given my horrid cold to her) and the cycle ride to Farncombe? where Uncle Marco and his wonderful girlfriend live. Actually the cycle ride there was incredibly fun, well it was really fun and incredible that neither Bola, Sus or myself fell into the river. We arrived early evening'ish and settled in very quickly to Marlin's birthday celebrations, naturally we helped her and her guests with the delicious food although we did refrain from poaching all her booze (I hope) instead we got some ginger beer and vodka and carried on our merry making with some Moscow mules. YUM.
Later on that evening saw the exceptional Naomi joining our ranks along with Camilla who had gone home to get changed and then come back to join the party. With very little cajoling we all jumped into Marco and Malin's outdoor hot-tub, shouting for waiter service and refills becoming more and more unruly as the time wore. Details of the hot-tub frolics will remain close to my chest, ahem, unlike certain items of clothing that evening. Anyway it was damn good fun and luckily for me I found all my clothes again after I got out and dried off. Lots of very drunken conversations ensued, Sus fell asleep, not sure what happened to the rest of the girls (and even if I did I would certainly be keeping my mouth sealed) and I decided that I absolutely HAD to got back to my hairy bummed beautiful Brazilian. Marco lent me fifty squids and called a taxi, I'm still not sure if I said my goodbyes to everyone because as soon as the taxi pulled up I was in it and soon filling in the poor driver on my life story and plans of marital traveling. Forty odd pounds later at 2 in the morning I was outside my house. Outside my house with no key, no phone, no jumper and utterly utterly drunk. I tried climbing over our neighbours fence round the back: bad idea, I tried shouting up at the light in my own bedroom window: useless, I eventually looked for a key and found one only to break it off trying to tist it too hard: oops, then I tried calling Katie through the letterbox: best idea of the night. By this time I was in tears at the thought of having to sleep on my own driveway, cold and alone, so when she opened the door and let me in I stood outside and cried a bit more, only this time with relief.
I stumbled upstairs and into my bed next to my bemused boyfriend where I started crying again while I retold the last harrowing twenty minutes of trying to get into the house in between telling him how much I loved him and his hairy bottom.
Sunday of course was completely written off in bed with lashings of self loathing, self pity and good memories of the previous day.
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