Dancing and a Day Out

I should really stop procrastinating and write more. I'm rapidly falling behind. So, where did I leave off?

Ah yes, last Friday. Nearly a fortnight ago. Oops. Well, after purchasing my hula hoop, Laura and I finally gave in to Robin and Ellie's frequent invitations to join them, and we shuffled over to somewhere near Gloucester Road for the purpose of dancing.  Well, I say 'we'. Laura certainly came with me but, having somehow crippled her feet for the second time in a week, she struggled to walk as far as the venue and was in no position to actually dance. So, she watched and did some audit/tax-related homework whilst I had my first encounter with Ceroc. 

Ceroc is probably best described as a kind of Latin-style ballroom dancing. As a woman, it seems to largely involve being led around by the male partner, only vaguely remembering the moves and trying not to fall over as you are spun round and round again and again. It pretty fast-paced once you get going, not too complicated, and relatively easy to pick up (for the woman, anyway; the men have to learn all the moves properly, which a few seemed to struggle with). I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it, even if some of the music sounded like it had been stolen from the DJ on a SAGA cruise liner. I was a little concerned that I'd have a problems with being in such close proximity to strangers, particularly given my recent return to personal space issues, but it was generally okay. That said, some men could do with an friendly explanation as to the location of the waist on taller girls.
Still, it was good fun and I think I might adopt it as a hobby.

Skipping forward to Tuesday, it was both the remarkable (in many ways) return of the Boyd, and Laura's birthday. Slightly cash-strapped, she received from me a hula hoop of her own in pink and lime green, which I then decided to coat in silver glitter with Pritt Stick. This wasn't the brightest of moves, of course, as the flat is still covered in a dusting of the stuff. But never mind. I wrapped the thing in a whole roll of red paper. She opened it by smashing it over my head. 

There were also balloons, strawberry jelly in shot glasses, the latest Sherlock Holmes film, and a jaunt to Muswell Hill to fetch fish and chips from the rather excellent Toff's. On the way back I got heckled for driving too slowly by a cockney on bicycle with “Come on, my son!”. What a cockney was doing in north London, I'm not sure.

I actually ended up back at Toff's on Thursday night with Ellie, Laura, Nick and Robin. We went to a Ceroc class near Muswell Hill this time, and as it was a little nicer than Gloucester Road (and much closer) it looks like we'll be making a habit of it. Laura managed to join in too, and despite her initial misgivings, has proclaimed it to be 'The Best Fun Ever'. Then again, she does say that about quite a lot of things. Regardless, we raced up the hill en voiture afterwards for fish and chips, where we ate until nearly 11pm with some of us sat on a low wall, and others just on the pavement. We are quite classy sometimes.

On Friday morning I sauntered down to the Job Centre for my fortnightly chat and was pleased to find that the person I have to talk to is much more understanding and helpful than the one from last summer. He spent five minutes scrolling through a list of local jobs before declaring that I would not get any of them if I did apply and sending me on my way. I appreciate his efficiency. 

 

From there I headed immediately to Paddington and jumped on a train to Oxford. Enroute I passed a steam train, which saw me pressing my face against the glass like a child in a sweet shop.

I found Simon under the arrivals board, thoroughly distracted by a large pasty. A brief amble later and we found Leeanne curled up on a windowsill reading in the Classics section at Blackwells, having previously utilised the location for a nap. From there we went for lunch before visiting the Ashmolean Museum for japes. I would like to tell you about its contents in detail, but as I was in one of those moods where you just walk around looking at things without reading anything, I hardly feel qualified. I'll just say tthat the highlights for me included some Greek pottery I recognised, a copy of a statue that I got over-excited about, Lawrence of Arabia's clothes, a weaving game for children that had Simon enthralled and, most importantly, impressively tall automatic doors that went all the way up to the high ceilings over four metres above us.

When they kicked us out (we just about managed to refrain from sliding under a closing shutter whilst reaching back for our imaginary fedoras) we paid a visit to Jamie Oliver's restaurant nearby and were very impressed with the results. The price was reasonable, the food was delicious, and the service excellent (which probably explains the sizeable queue that was forming outside the door when we left). If you go, do have the chocolate brownie with raspberries and amaretto biscuit baked in. It's wonderfully decadent.
I sadly had to depart for my train at this juncture, but I had a lovely afternoon, and it was very nice indeed to hang out with my two very good friends. I look forward to the promised Nottingham barbecues when they move house.

 Once back in London, I went straight on to a pub near Mornington Crescent to rendezvous with Henry and Rose-Heather for an evening of German-orientated goth/rock/metal music. I will confess that I'm not terribly up on the German stuff, but it was still pretty enjoyable, even if it was a poor turnout and I initially felt a little out of place wearing no corset and no black at all. Ah well. It was great to catch up with the pair, and I'm hoping to hassle them more often now that they live quite close to me.

To finish the evening, I made friends with a Rastafarian man on rollerblades as I walked to get my bus home at 1am. He said that he liked my attitude, saw zeros everywhere, and was on the way to his 'office', which was apparently the entirety of Camden. You do meet some interesting people in London.