A Few of My Favourite Things

Took the kids shopping in town today with my good friend R. It would have been better without the Young Ones of course. Over a bottle of wine, R. and I reminisced about some of our nights out in town. We remembered the last time we went to the Tapas Bar. It was a SingalongaABBA night. We'd dressed up. R. just pulled something out of her Mary Poppins-like wardrobe. I had rented a gorgeous purple outfit and flowing magenta wig so I could look like the red-head. Of the rest of the group, only my Scottish Friend had the cajones to dress up, like the blonde one.

Now I was not an ABBA-phile in my younger days. In fact I was a major ABBA-phobe. I would quickly switch the radio station should they come on and banned their music in my presence. So how ironic and funny that I should end up at this ABBA fest. We got some very odd looks at the tapas place. But I didn't care because who was going to recognise me in the magenta wig? At the theatre, which was full of women of a certain age and gay men, we didn't feel so out of place. They invited people on stage and my Scottish friend and I, well-oiled by this stage, joined the others. We all had to sing Dancing Queen, and the audience would clap loudest for their favourite. Well, I thought I'd be a shoo-in. I had the wig on after all. But no. This being Liverpool, they went for the underdog: the old lady in the wheel chair who miraculously regained the ability to walk at just the right moment. I mean, she didn't even know the words (and why do I?)!

Then there was the time we took the kids to a SingalongaSoundofMusic night (we're big on those as you might have gathered). All the mums dressed as nuns (with fishnet tights), the girls had matching skirts and headscarfs, and the boys went as Hitler. Our costumes were quite tame compared to others. I saw Dog Bites, Bee Stings, Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With String, Edelweiss, more Nazi uniforms than have been seen since WWII. But not exactly a child-friendly evening.

And of course how could I forget (or remember) the Lost Afternoon, when my Scottish Friend (SF from now on), another friend, and I drank five bottles of wine at the Tapas Bar, went to Ann Summers to check out the latest in S&M wear (where a co-worker accosted my other friend) and somehow ended up in the Vodka Bar. I don't remember how I got home.

Ah, those were the days.