I'd like to start this one off by bragging that the weather has finally started to perk up with a sunny and high-teens week ahead... Sorry to hear about your latest snowfall, E-town folks. But you can't say that you didn't expect one more dump; it's more like you were desperately praying that it didn't come. Much like I desperately pray for the end of the week now... hmmm... I seem to have adjusted to the real-working world quite quickly.
I never really understood the phrase TGIF; in my past 8 working years, I more or less dreaded Fridays because they usually stood for a two show day into a six show weekend, or an inevitable full Saturday/ Sunday shift because of school in the week. To me, it was TGI-Mondays or Tuesdays. And even Monday's weren't that relaxed because it was either a jam-packed day of learning + an added short shift OR even worse, attempting a seamless travel day wth nearly 100 people. The latter is nearly worse because at least one person unapologetically always has too much to drink on a Sunday night and holds up the remaining 99-ish travellers while the Tour Coordinator drags the holder-upper's drunk ass out of bed either at 5:30am or noon... it makes no difference and it's the truth. So in retrospect, I guess I was always thankful for Tuesdays.
Regardless, I now understand the full value of a normal-working-person's Friday. It's great! Your week of filling in spreadsheets has come to an end. In fact, I have noticed that it is so exciting to me that I cannot even sleep on my train journey to work on a Friday morning. This leaves me annoyingly sleepy come 3pm... good job there is an endless supply of coffee and chocolate in my office.
So I have decided, along with much of the 9-5 population, that Fridays are a joyous occasion. Here many joyous occasions are celebrated with a "knees up"; aka: a boogie, or a generally good night out on a Saturday. This is another part of English culture that I love: people are not afraid to have fun and let loose. I was reminded of this a few weeks ago when I went out with some girlfriends after my first 10km race of the year.
We were in a town where my friend lives and wen to a "happening spot" in said town... Remember, it's a town. Town bars or pubs usually remind me of a run-down/ dress-down/ country music playing watering hole decorated with posters of baseball and hockey players. I usually prefer the posh wine bar/ ultra lounges in the metropolis where sophisticated people dress up, the music suggests you should dance, but instead you talk ideologies while you look coyly over your martini or vintage red. We decided to dress up, but also have a knees up. In this town, this was meant to be "the spot" for such an occasion.
We arrived at a pub-looking place (95% of watering holes in the UK look like pubs), and to my initial horror, the lights were on and the bar-staff were wearing cheap cotton t-shirts. Ack! One saving grace that allowed me to walk past the front bar was that there was not sports memorabilia littering the decor. We walked through to the dance floor area to see that a band was due to play. ACK ACK! What were we getting into? My friend was also feeling slightly uncertain at this time, but we decided to give it an hour and see how we felt.
Good thing we did because it was a great night out! The band was great; they played old jivey/ rock and roll music that had nearly everyone on the dance floor. And by everyone, it was really everyone.... average age: who knows... there were 19 t0 65+. Race: mosaic. Size: every. Dress code: jeans and a polo from your day in the garden to my $$$ designer dress. Best character there: Pat, an Asian-Indian Taxi Driver by day/ party animal by night. I had the pleasure of speaking with him at the end of the night and his philosophy was that life is far too short to be sitting at home watching tele (pronounced telly; aka: TV). He likes to have a boogie, so he does!
I was reminded of this general great spirit of letting loose a few weeks later when Craig and I had our somewhat delayed reception/ welcome home party. Really, it was an excuse to get all our English extended family and friends together for a great evening. Who says you must not have a good time dancing after 40? Silly North Americans, that's who. Just ask Cherryl (Craig's mum); her and her friends were on the dance floor far longer than me or any of my friends... And after the DJ packed up, they were the ones to carry on a sing-song at the table to serenade our drunken friends into their taxis.
So, what should you learn from this? That you should never stop dancing! And that you don't need an excuse to go and dance. Remember... life's too short to spend your weekend watching tele!
