It has become a tradition amongst my circle of friends to go a little bit crazy on my birthday.
A few weeks in advance an email is circulated, a night is booked, a new venue is chosen, a private area reserved and bar food ordered. Then the count down begins.
Basically, it’s the perfect excuse for us all to get together and let our hairs down. Not that we really need an excuse but we all lead such busy lives these days that it can be tricky to pin point a night out. Therefore, I always try on my birthday night out to see as many of my friends as possible.
This year was no exception. Emails flew backwards and forwards, my friends from far away planned their journeys to London, and a suitable apartment was found for certain individuals to stay in at the end of the night. Usually new outfits are bought too, although this year I managed to recycle an outfit (finances are tighter these days) but the usual, "What are you wearing?" conversations were held and body parts and clothing analysed.
And so, last Friday night at 6pm the fun began. The Wax Bar was this years destination. Retro decor, pop music and plenty of bottles of wine. Friends walked through the doors, squeals of delight could be heard and for six solid hours we did not stop talking and laughing. I think we danced too. Oh and I insisted that my friend Sarah participated in swimming lessons. Don’t ask. There is usually a story or two to tell after our night out. Usually we are texting, telephoning and emailing for days after the event, reminiscing our behaviour and roaring with laughter every time we are reminded of various actions.
However, last Friday night after six hours the evening did not end for three of us. Oh no, three of us trailed through London in a black cab to an apartment in the Docklands area. The three of us who live in different corners of the country and who did not want the night to end in the Wax Bar. Petrol garage food was greedily eaten in the apartment lounge and our lives were discussed in great detail. We never run out of things to say. Although after a few hours even we had to admit defeat and retire to our bedrooms, yawning and muttering, “Look at the time, we’ve done it again!”
We looked a sight for sore eyes the next day. It was worth it though, and as my friend Caron's email began this morning, "Oh what fun we had!” It then finished with the words, “Thank goodness it’s at least 358 days until we do it all again.”
Yep, we are all still recovering from the girl's night out. Maybe it is just as well that birthdays only come along once a year.
Pictures of the day:
Girl's night out.