Last Friday was the day at work from hell. Nothing had been done on time and no one was listening to me, even when I put my bossy boots and assertive hat on. My stress levels were through the roof and at one point, the thought of walking out of the office and just going home and going to bed was really very appealing. Monday was also fairly bleak. There was, however, a London trip-shaped gap in the tunnel, which promised to let in the light over the weekend, and it did not disappoint.
After consuming a well deserved cider on arrival home on Friday, I then got an early night in preparation for the weekend ahead. Rising at the crack of dawn, I drove to the train station in Pewsey, no thanks to my Sat Nav, who had apparently had a few too many the night before and had lost all sense of direction. After paying the extortionate parking fee of £9(!!!), I boarded the train. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred on the journey into London, except the inevitable disappointment when you realise that there is no refreshment trolley to purchase your standard coffee and four-stick Kit-Kat from. Mind you, it was probably for the best considering the weekend diet that of wine, pizza and Maccy Ds that followed.
Arriving at Paddington, I was met by the fab Jessica Bradley, who I had not seen in far too long, as per usual. We hopped on the underground and went forth to Maida Vale, where Jess lives at the moment. We dumped off my stuff, chilled for a bit and wandered down to Little Venice, a gorgeous area that looks as if it has been picked up from the countryside and dropped in the middle of London. It was a glorious Saturday afternoon and we took a stroll along the canal with the narrow boats and old barges. It was here that we stumbled across a confusing looking duck/ pigeon combo- only in London I swear.
We decided, after stopping off at Starbucks for lunch, to go in search of somewhere to have a cold glass of wine in the sunshine. We settled for a lovely bar/restaurant on a barge called ‘The Summerhouse’, which really was lovely. We stretched out on a wicker bench and had a much needed catch up.
Come half past five, it was time to head back to the flat and get ready to go out. After a nutritional stomach liner of pizza and wine, we got into our glad rags and put on our faces.
Pre-maturely aging
We then hopped onto the tube and headed for Be @ 1 in Soho, where we had some delicious cocktails called ‘Candy Pants’ with some of Jess’s friends. I then moved onto Prosecco and other variations of the wine genre. We then stumbled for what seemed like forever across Soho to The Loop, where we danced to disco until the wee hours. Jess and I ended up going to sleep at around 5.30.
I was then woken up at around 9am by Jess, who insisted that we had to get up and go to the marathon. I did so, all be it with a ginormous hangover, and we once again went to Starbucks for a hangover breaky. We then went forth to the Marathon. Although we missed the athletes, we did make it on time to see the majority of the fun runners, including Susanna Reid, Sian Williams and Iwan Thomas. The atmosphere was amazing and it seemed as though half of London was out supporting the runners. I’m pretty sure that we were on camera at one point! We walked from the South Bank to the finish line on The Mall, cheering the runners as we went.
I momentarily felt inspired, until I really thought about just how far a marathon is and how much monotonous training is involved and the fact that I’d have to cut out cake and then I changed my mind. Watching was good enough for me, although I have big respect for those that decide to do it!
One thing that I was a little miffed about was the lack of a Heather Small classic blasting out at the finish line, but I guess you can’t have everything.
Afterwards, realizing that our energy was flagging, we decided to go and get a snack, in my case a mars bar and a coke (FATTY) and then it was home time.
My fat fest ended with a Maccy Ds burger, which I had to eat like a massive spaz whilst standing on a train for an hour surrounded by screaming children and weary marathon runners. The journey didn’t improve as I got to Swindon station, where the replacement bus service to Pewsey had been replaced by a taxi service, so I spent the final half hour of my journey squashed up in a taxi with four other complete strangers.
Although the journey home was really quite uncomfortable , the weekend was so fab and just what I needed that it didn’t spoil the buzz. What did that was arriving at work on Monday. It had to happen at some point I suppose.
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