Crowd surfing, stage diving and 30 minute friends

Saturday was another day that didn't go as planned. I was looking forward to sitting in a pub and watching the National after purchasing a pair of earings that I have been lusting after for about 6 months.

It started well, we got a paper and picked our horses in bed, got dressed-summer style, felt pretty. The paper had a free £1 bet in it so we had to find a Ladbrookes, this is where the problem started. We had to walk in the opposite direction to my plan (quick stop at market followed by pub dropping by Paddy Power on the way-they are paying out each way bets up to 5th place). We get to Ladbrookes just after 14.00 and we're too far from the pub, the market or the other bookies for me to do any of it. Bugger it, I'll put my bets on here it won't make a difference. Then we poodle off to watch the race enroute I manage to buy new fake converse called 4 star and a jumper/dress so they day isn't a total loss. Curry and horse racing-novel combination! I told the bloke that served us in the take away that I was on a diet so he gave us a little bag of salad to go with the meal. Race was a surprise, the winner was 100/1 Mark's main bet was in the lead most of the way then the sodding jockey fell off. My longest shot came 5th, wish I hadn't known about the special offer from the Irish bookies!

We have a gig to get to, Streetlight Manifesto, they're a cool ska band that supported RBF a couple of months ago. Mark wanted to see their first support act, but we got a little lost on the way and got there for their last song which we didn't see as he went to the toilet and I went to the bar. The gig was at ULU and I started to think that I went to the wrong uni, if not the wrong uni then stayed in the wrong place while I was at uni. I really have done my wild stuff arse about face, I'll go into that another time. Sailor Jerry Spiced rum and red stripe was my poison and what a splendid nectar that is, but whoa dangerous! The support acts were cool, and Streetlight were awsome, Mark lost his crowd surfing cherry and I managed to get onto the stage (I hadn't expected that) so I shrugged and threw myself off it again. Mark said crowd surfing was fun for 10 seconds until he was dropped and he will probably regret it once he sobers up. I met a journo that gave me a leopard print umbrella and bought a tee shirt that I was sure would fit both of us only to find out the next morning that I'd bought a girls fit medium. C'est la vie.

We then walked to the pup to meet up wit Con and Raven, I think I agreed to do a parachute jump but I couldn't be sure because at this point the air had got to me and the Sailor Jerry's had really kicked in. I think I got a new Native American name but I can't remember it, Mark prefers Princess Red Sky any way so I'll stick with that. We made a very strange way home, including buses and walking and, I'm sorry to say, McDonalds chips for me and disapproving looks from Mark.

I felt rough on Sunday, after being hungover for hours the garage downstairs decided to stop any plans for sleep and recovery just after midday so I bit the bullet and got out of my pit. We spent the next few hours looking for the stall that sell the earings I wanted in Spittlefields, only to realise that I must have got it mixed up and I actually wanted to be at a stall in Camden and in my hungover stupor I had forgotten my oyster card. Bugger.
Quick walk through Brick lane and an alternative route home to be welcomed by Muligatawny soup with added organic beef and yummy free bread that someone had left in the pub on Friday. I think we'll be finishing that off for dinner tonight, maybe a starter. yumm, now I'm hungrige!


*Additional
I found a draft text on my phone from the Streetlight Manifesto gig that I wrote to remind me of being given a leopard print umbrella by a journalist that I used to poke people in the leg with when they were being dicks and trying to push people (me specifically) on the periphery of the pit into the mayhem that is the centre. I left the brolly in the Mucky Pup after carrying it around all night, could have gone back for it but it wasn't practical-one of those big ones with a hoked handle.
Towards the end of the night the crowd seemed to consist solely of sweaty young men with their tops off. Sounds nice, but when you're up close and personal with them it's sticky and smelly.
I nearly managed the entire night without a cigerette, I had two. Both ponced from people outside the venue. Saying that, the first on cost me a pound from this group of French guys obviously hit by the fact that they bought Stirling with Euros when it was the expensive option and feel bitter about it now, but it was worth it not to have to walk to the shop. The second was from another group that was all male, I could converse with this lot because we spoke the same language. We chatted about the band (not surprisingly) I ended up saying, and they agreed through their laughter, that ska music always makes me think of the party song "I am the music man" and I want to do the umpa-umpa-umpapa bit-he's playing the trumbone. So you have to do an exagerated impression of somebody playing a trumbone.
So there we go, I can delete that draft now :)