Get off of my cloud...

Last night ended with the husband spreading Christmas joy up and down Oxford Street in one of those rickshaws, waving and shouting Merry Christmas to all and sundry while Shakin' Stevens belted out his festive musical offering.  It was a lovely way to finish our Sunday as it had started in a very different manner.

For my birthday, I received loads of brilliant gifts, one of which was from my Binland friends (if you're new to me, this is a waste company I worked for happily for many years).  This was a two part gift consisting of a jet boat ride up the Thames and a lovely meal at Marco Pierre White's restaurant in Shoreditch.  As there was a two hour break in what is lovingly known as the British weather, we did the boat trip yesterday.  Now I hate boats.  This has stemmed from being a terrified fourteen year old watching Jaws at the cinema, and every time anyone mentions the word 'boat', I am reminded of one of my dad's favourite sayings.  'There's things with teeth down there'.  I'm not daft enough to think that sharks wander up and down the Thames as it's too cold for them, but I am always pondering that one of them might have picked up the wrong A to Z and end up in Rotherhithe by mistake.

So it was a nervous bird who donned an additional waterproof coat over her own waterproof coat and a life vest which would inflate should it hit the wet stuff.  Apparently, my tears of terror wouldn't be enough of a catalyst for inflation, but I did think that with all the coats I was wearing this very small life jacket wouldn't be enough to stop me sinking like a stone should the worst happen.

But it was brilliant.  Lots of slow bits to give you snippets of history, and then lots of fast stuff with the James Bond theme tune blasting out.  We were last to get off, and I said to the husband that I was going to thank the skipper.  'Thank you for a brilliant experience and for scaring the pants off me', I said.  'Was that you screaming?' he asked.  I nodded, and he then went on to say that he wasn't sure if it was me or something wrong with the engine.

I am hoping that the other part of the gift won't be needing waterproofs. Mind you, as a woman of a certain age, they do sound like rather a good idea.  You can't be too careful in the trouser department when you're sixty.

You'll be wondering how Pete Tong went I suppose?  Well you will be shocked to hear that we didn't see any of it.  After an alleged violent altercation regarding the husband, a bottle of water and its lack of lid, we were asked to leave and were escorted off the premises by three burly security staff.  It's really funny, but when you are in shock, as we both were, you don't ask the right questions, such as:

Have you got the right people? (We are sixty year old grandparents with a caravan)

Can we see your CCTV?  There was no violence, no throwing of bottles and no swearing.  Just frustration that the water would have to be drunk there and then rather than putting it my bag and taking it into the arena.

And most importantly, how do we tell the kids?  In sixty years, I've never been thrown out of anywhere.

Never to late to start I suppose...