Get the party started...

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I may have hinted that I am going clubbing while I am away.  This is no normal clubbing. This is turning up at midnight and dancing till the sun comes up kind of clubbing.  The kind of clubbing which makes your ears ring and your bunions sob.  Son number one has arranged for us all to go to Amnesia to see Fat Boy Slim while we're away, and I can't wait.

Mr W (the older of the male children I share an office with) is a well seasoned visitor of events such as these, and grilled me with various questions yesterday...

'What are you wearing when you go?'
'Well, I was thinking of wearing shorts and flip flops and a spangly top'.

I lost him at spangly top, but he frowned at the mention of flip flops.  'Not flip flops', he advised. 'You need pumps because there will be a lot of stuff on the floor which you won't want to tread in'.

So outwardly, I suggested Converse pumps, but inwardly, I was now thinking wellies.

'Have you got a money belt?'
'No.  I do not have a money belt.  I have holidayed in far wilder places than Ibiza (I've been to the Isle of Wight for heaven's sake), so I think I'll be fine'.  What I really wanted to say was that I would tuck a twenty euro note in my bra for emergencies, but I didn't want to put him off his McFlurry (long story).

'Have you got earplugs?  It's ever so loud you know'.
Earplugs won't be necessary, as I grew up in the 70's and 80's when real music was played at the disco.  When I say 'real', I'm talking about The Tweets and Rene and Renato, so if a dancing bird and a pseudo Italian didn't stop me, I'm blowed if a bit of noise will.  

'Do you know what the dancing is like there?  It won't be any good you doing some of that swinging stuff you do on a Wednesday you know'.
Well I've taken the opportunity of looking at clips of what goes on in these kind of places, and it would appear that rhythmic pointing at the ceiling is the order of the day. Easy... even the husband should be able to do that.

Changing the subject slightly, we had a new boy start in the sales office yesterday, who shall henceforth be known as Master H.  As Mr W left yesterday morning, I mentioned to him that I needed to order up a mug for Master H.

'You could pick one up in Ibiza', he suggested.

From what he's been saying, that might not be all I pick up...


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