Funny man...

The husband and I have returned from a little jolly in our beautiful capital city.  Now before you get a picture in your head of the two of us enveloped in Lycra schlepping around the city with forty thousand other like minded souls, I have to come clean.  We have spent the last twenty four hours doing the complete opposite to what the brave marathon runners have been doing (still are if you're that Minion I saw).  We have strolled, drunk, laughed, drunk, eaten, drunk, overslept and drunk (tea this morning, we do have some element of common sense).

The ankle biters had treated us to this weekend for the husband's birthday.  It involved a night in a very posh hotel, and a couple of tickets for the Covent Garden Comedy Club (nowhere near Covent Garden, but more of this later).  We spent Saturday walking in sub arctic conditions, taking a chance to thaw out at various hostelries and finally ended up outside a (closed) designer dress show.  'You would look beautiful in that dress', said the husband, pointing to a fabulously frothy organza creation.  

He can say these things, as he knows that I have sworn off buying any new clothes for the whole of the year, so I neatly replied, 'Well my darling, if you like it that much, I'm a size 14 and it's our anniversary soon'.  I'm not sure if he'll actually remember the shop's name, but not to worry ladies, I took some photographs which I shall leave in strategic places (on the inside of his car's sun visor, on the bathroom mirror, stuck to the fridge and on his office door.  We'll see if my cunning plan works...

But back to Saturday night.  The 'Covent Garden' Comedy Club is slightly misnamed, especially as it resides below Heaven, the world's most famous gay nightclub (their words, not mine.  I'm hardly an expert in these matters).  Standing in the queue, and looking at what was going on around us, the penny finally dropped.  This was a cue for the husband to start with the loud, manly coughing to reassure anyone in the vicinity that he was a full blooded male.  He also took my hand in a vice like grip to show that we were together.  

He's done this before.  Brokeback Mountain nearly destroyed him.  I'd told him it was a western just to get him into the cinema and he's never let me forget it.

Anyway, the comedy side of the night was brilliant, with a comedian called Simon Wozniak completely finishing me off.  I'll be honest with you, the husband and I were probably the oldest in the audience, and there was a lot I either didn't understand or had forgotten about, but that's the good thing about laughing, joining in is almost as good as getting the joke in the first place.

As we left the club at the end of the show, Mr Wozniak, my new favourite comedian, was leaning against the wall checking out his phone. 'You were fantastic', I said to him as we passed.

I am sure that in his hard fought career of the comedic word, such praise from a fifty five year old woman in a sensible mac being held in a half Nelson by her husband was just the pinnacle of what he would hope to achieve.

Dream big, my friend.  Dream big...