Phew, what a Saturday. A day at the races! A birthday party! Another birthday party! Attendance at a Paddingtons gig...
Cruel sport: The horse we backed will be somewhere to the rear of this lot
Sod's law - everything happens on the same day. M, who funded a jaunt to Beverley races for five, broke even with a win on the last race. Prior to that we had made a habit of backing the slowest moving donkeys available. We had to suffer a torrential downpoar and certain death when, for a few fleeting seconds, we took shelter from a lighting storm beneath a metal construction atop which sat a course steward. D'oh!
Quick dash home to wash, scrub up, eat pizza and slip into dry clothes before heading to our Tai Chi instructor's 50th birthday bash. We turned up at the same moment the Chinese buffet was placed on the table. A paper plate later we watched the latino stylings of some bonkers duet called Mambo Jambo. Mike was celebrating 50 by the river, while over on the other side of Hull indie night Yo-Yo was a ripe-old ten, resulting in a lot of old blokes who should know better and daft lads in England shirts dancing to She Bangs The Drum. The city's finest The Paddingtons were back in town for the party and, cripes, they're starting to look and sound like the business and are a million miles from the sloppy mess they used to be. If only they could cut down on the incoherent babbling between songs.
We've been to the Yorkshire coast again today. As M broke even at the races, she felt the need to shed some of that cash earmarked for the bookie's bank account in slots, grabbing machines and on fast food 'n' donuts. And, heck, I came out a winner and am now the proud owner of a Piglet Seaside Plush. Need to sleep, although the more pressing job is to do a further redraft on the otherwise completed script.
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