Had set alarm to go off at a reasonable time, it did, I didn’t. Clung to the duvet for several more hours before finally prising myself away from it’s cosy warmth.
Raced to get up and dressed and into town to meet Rebecca for lunch and a spot of shopping. Got up in record time and was on track, had even made up time and left the house early, only to find myself having to wait forever for a bus at the top of the road. Ended up being half and hour late, gah! I’m really sorry Rebecca.
Still, when I got to Bar Centro we enjoyed a nice lunch and a Hooegaarden (well me anyway, Rebecca was the sensible one who stuck to orange juice) and then with heavy tummies proceded into town.
Attempted a tour of Afflecks, made it around two floors before giving up and running away from the heaving masses of spooky kids. What I would give to be able to shop in Manchester during the week.
A quick pop into Cyberdog struck gold for Rebecca who simply could not resist the most delicious and very cool hooded jumper. Splendid stuff.
Managed to resist purchasing more second hand cds from Vinyl Exchange and proceded onwards to the main point of the shopping excursion, that being a tour of Manchester’s lingerie departments.
Must just recall a quick conversation with my sister-in-law last night.
When Bras Go Bad
It is a little known fact that it doesn’t matter when a bra was bought, be it last Monday or 6 years ago, all bras are destined to go bad at the same time. One day all is fine in lingerie land, and the next.. *kerpow* and ewww!.. you find yourself with a drawerful of minging underwear. It is a a bra conspiracy. A plot to make one feel even more embarressed and dreadful when you find yourself in a store changing room being measured up, the stern assistant casting a disproving eye over the existing broken and saggy garment. Or alternatively meaning that you either find yourself running in, grabbing the first item that looks vaguely okay and running away as quickly as possible.
God I hate shopping for underwear.
Anyhow, a trip to both Marks and Spencers and Debenhams was just an ordeal and did not result in any joy or sexy underwear so I am still a grumpy minging monster. Bah Humbug. Want to feel great, instead I feel like a disgusting old bag of potatos. Dammit.
At this point Rebecca and I were pretty shattered but made one last jaunt into Primark, you see if I couldn’t get nice underwear I would just have to replenish knicker supplies in cheapest manner possible. (me? tight? never?) Could not resist a very special pair of knickers with the word “Flash” written on them in glittery silver lettering. Wahey coding pants!
Right, enough about that.
Left Rebecca and grabbed a bus homeward, was insanely tired but had arranged to meet up with Nick back in town in a few hours. Logged on and chatted to Red Penguin for a little while during which time I downed an insane number of double espressos. Somewhat more perky and buzzed I then pegged it back to Bar Centro to meet Nick and his girlfriend and her ex housemate.
Great, when I get there, first thing he says: “hey! You look tired!”
Cheers mate, just what I needed to hear.
Was introduced to Angela and although I had met her and June before it had been nothing more than a cursory introduction. Scary, but totally lovely Geordie lasses.
Buried myself in a pint of Budvar and soon became much more bouncy. Entertained Nick by telling him all about Vile, Pengie and my forthcoming trip to Atlanta, which he found highly amusing. Glad to be service. 😉
Decided to forego the proposed trip to the cinema in favour of sitting and getting blasted. So we did. Had a couple of pints in Bar Centro and then decided to make a swift crawl to Cord around the corner. Was quite happy about this as I had just noticed that most of the management at work had just made themselves comfortable across the room from me.
Cord was strange, never even knew it was there before. As it’s name suggests it is kitted out in brown corduroy seating, making it seem as if you are sat in a 70s Sixth Form Common Room. Quite cosy until two guys decided that they would join our table, and then our conversation. At which point it got a bit silly and jovial banter turned a bit sour. They did leave eventually though.
Stayed until we were kicked out. “Goodnights” were said and I hopped back onto the bus homeward. I was perfectly fine until I got home, went to check my mail and say a quick hi to Vile before tumbling into bed, then all of a sudden I guess the alcohol kicked in and everything felt all wrong and screwy. (Hadn’t actually drunk that much I hasten to add, 3 pints in 4 hours?) Felt terrible, hastily bid Vile adieu and scrambled swiftly towards Dreamland.