So I’m a big fan of milking my birthday and this year I managed to drag out the festivities for a whole two weeks. So after celebrating with Tom, my mum and dad and my work pals, it was time to see my best friends.
Once again I made my way down to Brighton to spend my weekend with the gals. Friday night I arrived about 7.45pm and was treated to Donna Dartnell’s homemade mushroom risotto which went down a treat. Then we snuggled down in front of the box for an evening of trash TV before heading to bed about 11pm, how hardcore.
Saturday, we went to visit baby Harry who is gorgeous and very lively – his mummy Kirstie is doing fab too. After stopping off at Sainsbury’s to bag some food options for our continental breakfast, I sat back and watched while the Dartnell family got ready for a wedding. Holly in her undies being smothered in fake tan in the garden, and Brent spilling coke all down his favourite white skirt, I witnessed it all.
After waving them off, and Emily set for the occasion with a mini bottle of vino smuggled in her bag for the day, I made my way to Harriets salon for my treatment. Not one to be shy, I’ve always been open about the fact that I get my tash waxed – after all, I don’t want to end up with a bigger beard than my boyfriend. So once the hairs had been ripped out, we decided on an impromptu night out on the tiles. We had a mad dash into town before the shops shut at 6pm to bag a last minute outfit, and then picked up some wine to start the evening off properly. Once back at Harriets, I gave into her nagging and let her loose on my face to do my make-up. I’ve never been one to slap on the war-paint, so as Harriet smoothed on each layer I felt myself cringing under her beady eye. But she assured me that it would be tasteful and true to her word, she didn’t make me look like a hooker or a drag queen.
The night that followed involved a lot of dancing, drinking, singing and I hate to say it, but a bit of spewing as well. It was the taxi ride back that tipped me over the edge, as Harriet tried and failed to get the taxi man involved in a bit of banter and singing a line from a Chris Brown song. He clearly wasn’t a fan.
Sunday at 2.30pm, us girls were reunited for an afternoon of posh tea and scones at The Grand Hotel in Brighton. To say we weren’t too used to such elegant surroundings was an understatement, sitting around a table eating finger food to the dulcet tones of a piano, is a world away from dancing round the pole at Yates on a Friday night. But as always, I had a brilliant time; there really isn’t anything better than laughing and reminiscing with your best friends!