This weeks flying past but not for all good reasons. I’m shattered – and I’ve had complaints that my last post was too long so I’ll keep this one short.
What a shit week.
There, how was that, short enough for you?
Hahaaaaa. Fooled you – that wasn’t the end. Teeheehee.
Cast your mind back to Saturday (wooo woo woooo – wafting hands around woooo woooo woooo)
One of the fill in acts was the British professional latin champions. OH MY GOD!!!!! They danced three dances and every one was AMAZING!!
Their rumba made my spine tingle, it was mesmerising. I hope Brian and Ali were watching – it would have been a good lesson on: ‘this is how you put on a performance.’ What is really surprising is that they didn’t even get a mention on the programme – and they were the best bit of the entire night by a loooooooong way.
There was really nothing to stay for after the show ended, if I’d been forced to watch any more sequence dancing I’d have completely lost the will to live so we made our way back to the hotel. Bob had booked us in to the Imperial as a birthday treat for me, it’s all very plush and lovely so we decided to sit in the bar and order a very nice bottle of wine, a crisp, grassy sauvignon blanc. At £23 a bottle it made me gasp a bit but, what the hell, it was my birthday treat and it turned out to be worth every penny. It was exactly what we needed after a disappointing evening.
Of course as everyone knows, after a couple of glasses of wine there is going to be an attack of the munchies. We reckoned that the chances of getting any food at that time of night ranged from slight to impossible since it was pushing 11 pm but decided it was worth the ask. B went off to enquire “Certainly sir, we can make some sandwiches for you, what would you like?”
One quick peruse of the menu later and we both decided that a ham sandwich each would do the job nicely. B went to off order them from the ‘far too chirpy for that time of night ‘ receptionist who took his order with a big smile. “Two ham sandwiches? That’ll be £16 please sir.” No wonder she was bloody smiling, she was probably struggling to hold in guffaws of mirth caused by the sight of B’s impromptu goldfish impression as his mouth dropped open with shock.
When the sandwich arrived, not on platters of gold and garnished with caviar and truffles served by nubile men in loincloths as I would have expected for that price, we both tucked in. All conversation was put on hold while the chomping took priority. They were very, very nice sandwiches but £16? Hell. Should have gone for a chippy.
So, that was pretty much the weekend. What about yesterday and today then? They were shit. Nothing else to say about them.