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Twenty six... How does age manage to creep up on you like this? I really can't remember the jump from 20 to 26. I think someone has cheated me out of a few years of youth!

Anyway, the boys made it their mission to spoil me rotten and make me feel like a kid again for one last time before I reach advanced old age and nothing short of massive doses of hallucinogenic substances would give me that feeling again.

Seriously, the boys were really fabulous. They went out of their way to make me feel special and loved and it kind of made it worthwhile to get a year older. The photos below are taken from Millionaire Bowling in Surrey Quays, where I was taken to celebrate my advanced age. As always, in London, it was an interesting people-watching expedition. It seems bowling is favoured by the goth-kiddies of South East London and fat men in grey suits.

We managed to get ourselves quite fabulously drunk, and successfully managed to block up and entire lane with balls. They just stopped coming back out. We assumed that this was a tactic similar to nightclubs turning off their lights, but we were determined to complete all the games we had paid for, even if it mean endlessly searching for the right size balls after each person's turn. It must have taken an hour for a staff member to realise what we were doing, by then we had caused a major blockage which the horrible little boy that's problem it became reminded us frequently would take him all night to rectify.

Personally, I felt rocks for him. They ignored our request for service at 20:45 and refused to serve us food, so we had to eat crisps. Somehow, after four bottles of wine, crisps just don't seem to quite hit the spot.

 

Stephen, me and Brett only 1 bottle of wine down.

 

Me and Stephen and present number .... two, I think. Then Zena, me and Stephen and present number 3. I think we're almost finished bottle of wine number 2.
Zena, me and Brett with the packaging for present number three.

 

Zena in full swing. Zena and Santa. Santa is currently doing an Amelie gnome trip and has left his home pub to travel where ever his heart desires, regularly sending home photos of him having marvellous adventures. He's taken a gap year and hopes to get in a few more countries before returning home for Christmas. What the hell he was doing in Surrey Quays, I do not know... Maybe he's never been bowling before.
Stephen ready for action. Brett showing what weaklings we all are for running around looking for size 8 balls.
This isn't all I did for my birthday though. We decided Wednesday night was a slightly better week night to go out on the town than Tuesday, so Zena, me and the boys met up for drinks at a rather trendy cocktail bar in Holborn called Sway before staggering off to on of my favorites, Cafe Dome in Soho. After that, the boys, very wisely, left us and caught the last train home, while Zena and I carried on to Tiger, Tiger in Piccadilly. Not really my first choice, but, being a weeknight we were rather limited. I have learned, in my year in London, to no longer be so selective about the places I go and the music I dance to, otherwise, you just end up sitting at a table all night waiting in vain for something not on the Capital FM play list. The point being,  I used to need to be pretty near collapse before I would dance to the music I dance to here, now, a few glasses of wine and I'm up there with the rest of them. After a jug or two of cocktails, I was in fine form. I also managed my highest hit ratio in a single evening in my entire life. 3.  Now, here's the funny part - their names were Nico, Chico and Luka.  Nico was a 30-something Sicilian who worked as an IT contractor, Chico was a professional gambler from Ethiopia and Luka was from Naples but that's about as far as we got with conversation as he wasn't articulating very clearly. None of them were worth giving my real phone number to, but the attention was flattering. I saw two men actively trying to work their charms on Zena, but the rest of the place was watching her like hungry lions, too intimidated to approach her. I love watching men react to her, its so damn funny. Reminds me of the days I used to hang out with Carla Liebenberg and the things men used to do just to get a good look at her.  All in all, it was a fun night.

Getting home was, of course, another story. I managed to fling myself on the first number 3 bus that came into view, narrowly escaping any potential amorous gestures from Chico (somehow we left the club with him and his mate), but finding myself trapped on a bus driven by a young man with the attitude of someone whose hopes have been dashed and driving buses is the last thing he ever imagined himself doing. This young gentleman waited for me to stagger into the middle of the aisle with no easy access to any supports before pulling off with such vigour I was flung halfway up the stairs. I do, of course, realise that my drunken state may have contributed to my unsteadiness, but it took me three tries to scrape myself off the floor, resulting in several bruises and a long cut on my knees, before I managed to plant myself in a seat.

Once there, I found myself sharing the upper deck with a group of lesbians. Most of them looked like delicate young boys but one, the lipstick lesbian among the bunch, had the loudest, filthiest mouth I've heard on an adult in quite some time. About half way through the bus ride she decided it would be a great idea to light up a cigarette, not realising that the bus was equipped with CCTV cameras. This prompted the already edgy bus driver to pull over, stop the bus and storm up the stairs. A stereotypically gobby argument ensued which resulted in the lesbian eventually putting out her cigarette and a 5 minute delay in everyone's journey. After all that, I still had a half mile stagger to the house. The last thing I needed at 04:00 in the morning, but, Zena was still worse off than me, she had to work the next day!

So, my birthday came to an end with me in a fully clothed heap complete with make-up and shoes on my bed. The after effects were surprisingly mild, though I did feel like I had a rock in my intestines which occasionally balled itself into a fist right up until Saturday. Sadly, I have no photographic evidence of the night, as I, wisely, never take my camera drinking with me. I didn't even take it bowling, those pics were taken on Stephen's camera. If next year's birthday is anywhere near as fun as this one, I might just stop dreading them so much...