These three days...

I don't know what it is about having a day off, but after three days of eating, shopping and drinking, I could really do with a couple of days off to recover.  Actually, I think my purse might echo that statement after its bashing in M&S on Friday.  I had three very different days, but with one underlining similarity.  Alcohol.

On Friday, I went to the new Westgate shopping centre in Oxford with Miss R, the Mother and Mrs Jangles.  Our expectations were high, and we were champing at the bit to be let loose on all the designer shops.  Miss R was very excited as she was off to House of Fraser, and I had a very meagre wish list of a black handbag and some new drawers (the kind often referred to as 'apple catchers' rather than a piece of furniture for the bedroom).  But it was a huge disappointment on many levels, the first being that there is no House of Fraser there.  To help with the pain, Miss R had to buy a Danish pastry to go with her coffee, and I reassured her that there would be many other exciting shops to look at.

Well, there weren't...

By 1.00, we'd all bought everything on our lists, and it was four very despondent ladies who headed for the nearest alcoholic watering hole.  It was a rather strange bar which treats drinks like scientific experiments, and the two older ladies were very excited when the Bunsen burner made an appearance. And so started a downward spiral into lunacy.  Cocktail after cocktail, followed by wine and then some food, after which we were ready for the second half of our shopping trip.  The fresh air had a rather un-nerving effect on the Mother, but Miss R and I managed to partially carry her and Mrs Jangles off to Debenhams, where we were all parted from a bit more of our hard earned cash.

We then all fell into another bar which is where I left them when the husband came to collect me.  To be honest, the way they were knocking back the Malbec, I was surprised that they made it home at all.

Saturday night was another big one.  I got to meet Miss R's new gentleman caller.  A rather tall chap with a penchant for denim and a checked shirt, who was given the nickname Woody.  This was because he looked like the Tom Hanks character in Toy Story but without the fringing.  Mrs Jangles was there with the Mother and her beau, and my cousin Mrs B had come all the way from Devon as alcohol was promised.  I was driving (boo hiss) and the evening started well, although there was a moment of confusion when the husband, who had left his glasses in the car, and Mrs Jangles who had left her sanity at home, were having a discussion about the menu

Husband : 'What are Corrugated Chips then?'

Mrs Jangles: 'That'll be a posh word for crinkle chips, I reckon'.

Husband: 'My mum used to make them'.

I took the menu at this point.

Me:  'It's Courgette Chips, not Corrugated Chips.  Go and get your bloody glasses before you order something daft'.

This evening finally came to a messy halt with no one being arrested or being made to sit on time out in the car, so a happy ending all round I suppose

Sunday was a little quieter.  Daughter number two has a new chap, and she thought it would be lovely if the husband and I joined them for lunch so that we 'could get to know him better'.  Now I have met him twice already, and spent seven hours in his company, so you'd think that I'd know him quite well.  However, it was the night of the panto when I met him, and I was rather squirrelled and made a bit of a fool of myself, or so I'm told.  I thought I was witty and entertaining, but apparently, discussing your HRT patches with your daughter's new chap is not acceptable.  The second time I met him was better.   I was sober, which helped  However, I was also laid out on the sofa with a chest infection looking like a sweating, seething mess of yuk, so didn't really get to speak to him.  

It was quite a sedate lunch; he is a really lovely man and I can see that he makes daughter number two very happy.  He told me at lunch that he has a thing for daft socks, so this made picking a nickname for him quite easy.

Ladies, please welcome the Jolly Sock Man into the blog...