Bad girl for life

I saw an old friend on Friday at my regular once a night club Blacktronica, and he asked me what happened to the blog. What can I say, but life got in the goddamn way. That four letter word that tends to rule most people's lives, W.O.R.K got in the way. Now I am a fully paid up staff member it seems that people are intent on finding new ways to make it less enjoyable for me. Like my start time. It's 7.30am EVERY FUCKING DAY! Ok, I do get to finish at 4.30 (ish) which means I have no excuse not to put a home-cooked meal on the table, but it means I have become one of those boring-ass people who desperately tries to get into bed at a decent hour. I have even retired (once) at 9.30pm for the evening. I must be getting fucking old.

Days of working like a dog turned into weeks, and its been over a month since I last posted. But, rest assured, I always make time to enjoy meself. Ya hear!

I turned thirty-eight last week. THIRTY FUCKING EIGHT ARRRRGGGHH! What a nonsense. How dare I get here so bloody quickly. I'M NOT EVEN MARRIED YET! I've had one proposal, no gotdamn ring (note to men - do not propose and then don't buy a ring - it's mad cheap), and a long-term relationship which didn't end with kids or marriage. I am basically a typical black woman.

So to 'celebrate', because despite the whinge, I was happy to celebrate it - I dragged the girls to a raving 'weekender' in Great Yarmouth. Now I don't know the origin of these things, and how they started, but I know my mum used to talk about 'coach trip' back in the day. So basically, a load of black people (99.5 per cent apart from the bar staff - and a couple of bashy white girls) descended on a 'holiday village' in this seaside town for a weekend of raving. It was both mine and Michie Wong's birthday so we wanted to go. Basically it was a duty rave for them. Even at the big old age of 38, if you say you want to go white-water rafting on your birthday, really and truly, no one should complain (of course this being black folk, they would). A couple of the girls didn't want to go...so we left dem.

Anyway, I will admit, a flirtation of mine was attending, which made me a bit keener to go. Work was kicking my bloody ass and the date couldn't come soon enough. Going into the weekend, I was really tired, but was looking forward to relaxing on the four-hour coach journey up there. Suzy Wong's mum made the fried chicken, and saltfish fritters (out of this world), and we sipped brandy handed out by the reps.

Each night had a different theme, and the first night was school uniform. (I know you want to see pictures Zed!). The second was a Masquerade Ball, and third night African Wear. All I can say is that in 72 hours, I got all of 10 hours sleep. I'm not sure whether I should be proud or disgusted that I have the stamina to rave drug-free (apart from alcohol which I do think I am addicted to) from 4am in the morning to 4pm the next day. Because that is what I did one night. It was deep. But we just had so much fun. I've not had such a good time since Malaga last year. We met lots of nice brothas, the sistas were friendly, and the music was on point.



We were the only girls on the floor of our row of chalets, and right next door, we had some good-looking brothers. Of course it did not take us long to get acquainted. Wong's opening line to the cris 6ft 4 fine-ass brotha in football shorts ' you have nice legs'. LOL! She keeps it real. And he had a brother. Yes I got the digits.



Highlights of the weekend were Michie getting drunk on homemade rum punch within the first four hours of us arriving, and having to sleep it off. She later had to be carried back to the chalet after too much Brandy, but amazingly reappeared in the dance two hours later having a little nap to finish off the night (morning).

School uniform night was fun, our friends brought a pen so we spent the night writing on each other's shirts. One guy wrote 'sexiest chick in town' on mine. I'm a sucker for a good compliment, and so he got a dance. I wrote 'virgin' (not on mine of course) on this young-looking guy's shirt (he was 36 but looked 18). The masquerade night was hot, DJ PC Mistri played a salsa tune, and as I expressed myself with some salsa moves, I was surrounded by a group of the guys all cheering me on. Hotness.

My flirtation didn't really work out, we had a bit of a tiff before we left for Yarmouth, so I put in a call to a 'break in case of emergency' flirtation, and he turned up and didn't leave my side the whole weekend. Oh well. You schmooze you lose.

I think I'm getting the hang of this single life ting.