(Only) Girls Allowed* Part I

This weekend was the girlie trip to London and much fun was had by all.

It started well, we all managed to arrive at the airport at roughly the same time, before the check-in gate had opened, which necessitated a sit down and a glass or two of wine.

KM had booked our flights and had very sneakily booked our seats, I can't remember the last time I got to sit in the front row because when you fly with children you're never allowed to. We were a party of five, the front row (and every other) is six seats, that meant that someone had the misfortune to sit at the end of our row.  Poor Paul, he very manfully put up with KP's flirting for the duration of the flight, I think the wine on board (although not as good as the wine in departures) helped.

The trip between the plane and H's was remarkably easy. I say this because I am reknown for my dislike and almost pathological aversion to public transport, yet here we were onto one shuttle train, then onto another train, before having to hail a cab for the last leg.

The rest of Friday evening passed in a blur of chilli and prosecco, V was the first to bail followed quite soon after by E, and I'm not completely sure whether I crawled into bed at two or three, what with the UK being 1 hour behind Germany.

Saturday started really early, which was surprising given the hour at which most of us went to bed and the quantity of prosecco consumed, I'm sure that by 8am most of us were sitting curled up on the sofas**, nursing mugs of tea.

Mr T provided breakfast, after he'd scooted out to the local supermarket for a selection of newspapers and proper squidgy English bread (we all get enough of the über healthy stuff back in DE). And what a spread, sausages, bacon, baked beans, tomatoes, toast, eggs, mushrooms - heaven on a plate.

The first stop for us girlies on Saturday was the supermarket, for us Brits it was essential, where we could stock up on things like ginger nuts, Cadbury chocolate, Jelly Babies and pre-rolled marizpan, for the two Yanks it was an introduction to English tastes. After abandoning our many shopping bags in the care of Mr T we scarpered off to catch a bus***. We seemed to wait ages for the particular bus we needed, but we were kept entertained what with E refusing to let us take photos of the MI6 building just across the road and the hoard of Santas that came past.

E and KP were having a cultural day, going to the V&A for the ballgown exhibition, while I was given responsibility for the virgin Yanks. We started off in Sloane Square where the Sally Army was playing, life doesn't get much more Christmassy than that!   From there we pootled along King's Road, in and out of little boutiques, managing to make a few purchases**** along the way.

We were due to meet the others in Covent Garden at 4pm which necessitated a tube trip (yet another form of public transport!) I was so proud of myself that I found the tube station (google maps, love, love, love) got the three of us onto the right train and off at the right stop, without losing anyone (glad I wore my bright turquoise coat).

In Covent Garden we started our evening (a trifle early perhaps, but not as early as we'd started on Friday) H is a member of a rather fabulous club, the Crazy Bear, all red leather sofas, black and white flock wallpaper, subtle lighting and discreet waiting staff, heaven.

This probable highlight of the weekend was followed by a bit of an anticlimax. We'd decided to get changed before going out for the evening's entertainment and while we were doing that we'd get take out, delivery curry (something that is impossible to do in DE). The curry was OK, not amazing, but then you don't really expect that from a take out. The big disappointment was the onion bhajis, they had to have been the onion bhajis because everything else was clearly labelled and identifiable but they looked more like some weird dumpling and didn't taste as if they'd ever seen an onion let alone touched one.

The evening's entertainment was provided by the Crazy Horse Cabaret, actually that's a lie. The best entertainment came from people-watching the audience in front of us, clearly very, very drunk and quite happy to be the centre of attention for their large group and I guess not caring that the rest of us then had something to talk about. Which speaks volumes for the quality of the actual show that we'd paid to see. We all knew, before hand, what the Crazy Horse Cabaret was about, it's Parisian showgirl routines, but none of us expected that the show would start with tits out and continue on and on and on. One routine after another, tits being shaken around and around, quite frankly when you're female you have your own tits so you need a little bit more to the entertainment for it to be entertaining. To be honest we were mildly hacked off from the beginning, first the wine was nasty, verging on undrinkable, then we were turfed out of the seats we wanted because they were reserved 'for the press'...those two smoochy smoochy couples that took our seats were not press, no way.

However, the failure of the cabaret to entertain didn't ruin what had been a great day, But I do think it unlikely that any of us will be recommending it on to others!


* Mr T (H's other half) had to become an honorary girl for the duration, I don't think he found it too arduous.
** Actually there's one sofa and one totally gorgeous chaise longue, which I covet.
*** I know, a bus! Trains one day, buses the next, there was no stopping me, muniphobic one day, flashing an Oyster card the next!
**** Christmas presents only, I promise, we/I were on our best behaviour!