Sunday, April 19, 2015

Fun, food and frivolity

I had drinks with my friend Z on Friday night. We drank espresso martinis (why the HELL have I never had one of those before?) and talked and laughed our faces off. We switched to wine and our laughter got louder, and I tottered off to bed just after 1:30am. When I woke six hours later, I felt remarkably fine. Suspiciously fine. Just to make sure I wasn't assaulted by a delayed onset hangover, I stayed in bed for another two hours, emerging with nothing more than a headache.

I had a lunch date with my cousin E on Saturday and seeing as I'd already downed more alcohol in one night than I've had since the start of the year, I thought bugger it and ordered a no-no meal: a big, fat ham and cheese toasted sandwich. Oh, sweet carbs, sugar and dairy. I devoured it, strings of cheese hanging from my mouth.

E and I spent a few hours catching up on the past six months or so of each other's life. Her tales of holidays, past and upcoming, to Bali, Switzerland and Spain, were more exciting than my 'On Monday, I went to work at eight-thirty, came home at five-thirty, and repeated that day for five months' tales but such is life. 

E took off to visit her father and I pissed about for too long before realising I was running late for my next date: a show in Melbourne with H. A quick five-minute makeup job, a frantic search for misplaced keys, and I was fanging up the highway, telling Siri to shut up at regular intervals (that Siri bitch - last time I used her for directions, she told me to abandon the car on a main road and walk the remainder of the trip and then later on my unsolicited behalf, Facetimed a woman I'd unsuccessfully interviewed with months earlier).

H and I went to see Tommy Little whose hour-long stand-up show, Enter the Weapon, is a part of the 2015 Melbourne International Comedy Festival, and absolutely fucking hilarious. I wish I hadn't have gone on the Festival's penultimate day - if I'd gone sooner, I could have bullied everyone I knew into going along, as well as going many, many more times myself. He has a kind of naughty schoolboy charm and he is kind of easy on the eye too. H and I had a discussion I have had many times before, about how a man can go from goodlooking to achingly hot if he can make one laugh until their sides hurt.

We followed up the show with Mexican and margaritas at Fonda in Flinders Lane (highly recommend. We both had the chicken burrito and though we agreed we could have shared one, we shoved it all down nonetheless because it was so delicious), where we stayed for two hours, talking about nothing and everything.

It rained all night and was still raining when I woke this morning. I pottered around for a while, undecided what to do with my day, until I read on Twitter that Jonathan Crombie who played Gilbert Blythe to perfection had passed away from a brain haemorrhage, aged 48. I went out to get a coffee and came home to sit in front of the heater and watch Anne of Green Gables for the billionth time in tribute. 

Now I'm showered and with freshly painted nails, curled up on the couch, watching Poldark. Frankly, I have no idea what the show is about because I'm mainly just marveling at the beauty of Aidan Turner's lovely dark Irish good looks, but there's something of love triangle, something to do with Cornwall mines, and a wipe yer nose on the back of yer hand, fiery redheaded kitchenmaid. It's enough to keep me amused for an hour and the perfect way to end a perfect weekend.


  1. This sounds like an excellent series of events!
    Espresso martinis sound uh-mazing.

    1. Oh they are, they are! You HAVE to, simply MUST, try one.

  2. I was gutted about Gilbert too. And otherwise that sounds pretty darn perfect.

    1. It's heartwarming how many people felt the same devastation about Crombie. I hope it provided some comfort to his family to know how much he was loved worldwide.