Time Out

So we wanted a weekend away – having fun and forgetting about our responsibilities.

So we went to Birmingham.

Don’t ask – I don’t even really know why.  We started out looking at cheap Travelodge deals and settled on Manchester, then decided we couldn’t afford the petrol. So we decided on Brighton but of course Brighton takes about 30 years to get to from Somerset.  So we decided on Bournemouth but then, and I don’t really know how, booked Birmingham.

That well known destination for people for looking rest, relaxation and getting away from it all.

Basically what happened in Birmingham, stays in Birmingham and there was exceedingly appalling and embarrassing behaviour (I think) but we took in the kind of sights and sounds all good holiday makers should….  The inside of a Travelodge (by night and day in my case as on the Sunday I was unable to get dressed until 5pm), the inside of a minicab or two, a very very dubious ‘night club’, a kebab shop, a Chinese ‘all you can eat buffet’ (which appeared to be inside a village hall), several layers of a multi-story car park several times, Primark, Wetherspoons, a pub which Facebook informed us was ‘for lesbians ‘ (but was actually filled only with old men – maybe hoping for lesbians?) and a tattoo parlour. 

Oh yeah – I missed out Tesco Express.  But we didn’t buy anything so does it count?

My biggest error was claiming on the Saturday night that I didn’t feel like drinking much…Yeah that old chestnut.  They catch you when your guard is low.

All I had consumed in the entire day was 2 migraine tablets and a prawn wrap.  At something like 7pm I poured a cider.  Just the first of the two I intended to have.   2 litres as it turned out. Then I started on the vodka.  Later I let a young man (and I mean young) who claimed to have ‘many much money and house in Dubai’ and was very angry at his (ex) girlfiend who ‘invested many years in but was a cheating bitch’ buy me tequila slammers. I think most of them went down my dress but I bitterly remember swallowing way too much lemon. 

To be frank it was downhill from there.  We had to flee a dubious ‘nite spot’ and I promptly fell over a crash barrier and got shouted at (yes shouted at) by the police.  On trying to pick the crash barrier up I fell on top of it and couldn’t get up.  Somewhere on the street was a camera crew so if you are watching  Police Interpectors sometime in the coming weeks and see a 30 something mother of two face down on a crash barrier with her bottom in the air and knickers on show whilst the narrator gives a somber speech about the demise of society you can at least impress your friends by ‘knowing’ me.  In a vague kind of relieved your life hasn’t turned out like that way.

On getting back to the hotel I struck up a conversation with a highly camp man standing outside his bedroom.  Having given him a dose of my rapier wit he came back with……

‘OH MY GOD – honey? WHAT is THAT all over your face?’.

On closer inspection it was lipstick.

I’d gone out wearing bright crimson lipstick.  It was now covering the entire lower half and some of the upper parts of my face.   I looked like a 5 year old clown who’d gone wild with the Crayola.  A drunk 5 year old clown at that.  

Cutting a stylish dash as ever.

I then passed out in the double bed next to my friend (there were no twin rooms available) and, having made a big scene about personal space and pillow barricades, woke up with my leg wrapped round my friend’s torso, holding her tightly to my bosom. 

Sigh.

I then decided I needed breakfast and for reasons I can only put down to ‘still being drunk’ entered the dining hall wearing my pyjamas (which didn’t even match and the bottoms had shrunk on an accidental boil wash and were wafting around half way up my legs – though frankly that was the least of the onlookers concerns) and a pair of leopard print high heels.  I promptly proceeded to miscalculate the amount of leverage needed to spoon scrambled egg from the buffet serving platter on to my plate and with one deft move, transferred the entire congealed eggy mass from the platter, through the air and onto the shoes of the man stood next to me. 

Time stopped.

We both stared at his shoes (what we could see of them through the egg).

I said ‘oh’.

I lamely attempted to kick some of the egg away from his shoes, managing to simply kick him in the ankle.

Through all of this he remained utterly still and utterly silent –  presumably fearing I was a deranged crack addict who had escaped from the local secure accommodation in search of scrambled eggs and  half a tomato.   In leopard print heels.

I then went back to bed and remained there until 5pm.  My friend managed to go out but had to take the electronic swipe card with her so of course I had no power and spent several sweaty hours lying in a semi dark room with no clock, no tv, no kettle and no idea really what the hell was going on or where I was.  On the plus side – at least I was only in Birmingham and it wasn’t as if I was missing out on a day next to the azure blue ocean or trip to swim with dolphins. 

I’d like to claim none of it was my fault and my drink was clearly spiked but frankly, it was entirely my fault and I shall aim not to repeat the experience.  Again.

Especially the bit with the scrambled egg……

On returning to work my boss enquired what I got up to on my mini-break.

A bit of a shopping I said.

And lets just leave it at that. 

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