Every time I journey the thirty minutes in to London on the train for a night out I feel so many things. Stressed: because sometimes I wonder if preparing the kids for a night away from me is worth the hassle (it takes at least 4 hours). Smug: I’m on my own! Guilt: both kids are a handful, i hope they aren’t too bad for my mother-in-law. Confusion: what do I do on my own on a train for half an hour (play iPad solitaire). Excitement: I’m going OUT!
This Saturday I had one of those journeys When I arrived at Euston I got on the tube down to Southwark, a novelty in itself with not having to research the most pram-friendly route which usually results in me getting completely fed up (i.e. getting a cab). Arriving at the hotel in good time was another shock without having any kids in tow and I had another hour to kill. So I did my hair. Ahhh the life of an escaped mother!
The night began at my sister-in-law’s flat in Dalston with wine and Take Me Out, a classic combination. We entertained the idea of getting the bus to our dinner but a taxi careered past so really, it would’ve been rude not to. We had a host of cocktails and a small amount of delicious food at Hawksmoor (Dirty Martini, French Martini, White Russian: done) followed by another cab back down to Southwark to my husband’s warehouse party.
Yep, a warehouse party. That’s music, in a warehouse, wearing suede heels.
I’m always immensely proud every time I go to one of his parties. Somehow he and his 2 business partners (one of whom is called Alice… concidence? i think not) manage to erect staging, get sound, lighting and video effects going, set up bars, security, loos and cloakrooms, then book super famous djs to come and play some records and entice 2,500 people to come. Hardly an easy task on a miserable rainy October evening How he can do all this yet still not manage to hang damp towels up after a shower beats me…
Admittedly, it’s really not my thing. I prefer the old days of when he worked for a club and there were VIP rooms and champagne. Cold disused carparks and vodka in plastic cups is not quite the same, but I like to see what he does for work once in a while. And a hotel stay is always nice.
I must remember, however, that 5am is a ideal time for getting up with babies, not collapsing into bed. Luckily my hangover was almost non-existent thanks to lots of water throughout the night but that sort of mess-up to your sleep routine takes DAYS to recover from. I was too tired for Homeland Sundays, for crying out loud! Situation critical. Even now my eyes are still a little scratchy and I’m enjoying my hoodie more than normal. I’m getting too old for this.
Luckily I’m not my husband and don’t have to do this every weekend (can you imagine?). Instead I’m happy to watch the X Factor in my dressing gown every Saturday night for the foreseeable future, though I suppose New Year’s Eve will have to involve another late night. I’d better start preparing now.