OK, the evening actually went like this:
The girls were all getting dolled up to go out, I'd booked us a taxi and told GG2 to be ready by 18:15.
18:30 we were still waiting! Blondie was with us and had made another quick dash to the loo (still not sure if she isn't powdering her nose or applying make up). But here they come as if it is still 17:30 fresh faced and smelling gorgeous, there is only a hint of minx in GG2's eye as she winks at the driver when he opens the door for her.
I'm sitting upfront, for me at the beginning of the evening is a rare occasion I assure you, however, there were four of us in this taxi and my goodness did he know about it.
GG1: Sorry for the delay.
GG2: She was powdering her nose.
Blondie: Hee Hee (hands clasped up to her chin, head tilted to the right)
GG1: (Eyes rolled to the ceiling) Sigh!
Blondie: So where are we going, I've been looking forward to this all week.
GG1: I know, you haven't stopped going on about it every time I've seen you. now belt up, get your knickers into gear, we're off Whoring!
Blondie: Hee Hee (hands clasped up to her chin, head tilted to the right)
GG2: I am so up for it tonight, I've even got me Fuck Me Jesus shoes on. God you're gonna lurve it in Harvey Nick's, we had so much fun on Saturday.
Blondie: Hee Hee (hands clasped up to her chin, head tilted to the right)
You getting the picture of Blondie?
So poor Mr Taxi driver, really not in the mood for four girls, carried on smiling throughout, remember we had kept him waiting for nearly half an hour. Yes there were four of us, Ms P's (affectionately known as the hoover, I'll reveal why later) lack of substance abuse kept her quite for the duration of the journey with occasional snorting when she found something funny.
After what seemed an age, we arrive, in style, outside Harvey Nick's. Now at this moment, I hasten to add, that I had it on good authority Clarin's counter had moved to where Accessories used to be, as a result of this move they were offering free Champagne. What I wasn't informed, was the fact you needed a ticket to gain entrance. Thank you Clarin's I spent £65.00 and not even a sniff of the bubbly, I am so now a confirmed Guinot Girl from here on in.
GG2 then interrupted my trail of skin care thought, by ranting on, "Fuck me girls, my shoes are killing me, did you not know they are for display purposes only?" Here I would love to go off in one of GG2's fantasy description of her Red Patent Leather Fuck Me Jesus Four Inch Heels, complete with S&M studs, but that's a whole other post.
Slow start to the evening, the maitre d showed us to a table right in the middle of the room. Blondie kept on looking over at me and then at her watch:
Blonde: Nothing's happening, when's it gonna happen, you always say stuff happens.
GG1: It does (under my breath) when you're not around.
I smile politely at her as the waiter brings our cocktails over.
GG2: How about making something happen?
GG1: OK, that guy behind you, no don't look round, yes, that's him. He is reading the paper, ask him if we can read our star signs.
Blondie: I can't do that, he's ugly.
GG1: That's not the point, you have to put yourself out there, you know, kiss lots of frogs, before you meet your prince.
Blondie: I don't know if I can.
GG2: You do it.
GG1: I always have to do it, you've been pawns long enough, time to flee the nest and fly my pretty's, fly!
The Hoover, at this point, has managed to suck up £15.00 worth of cocktail, we hadn't even licked the cherry. At this rate, it was going to be an expensive evening. Determined not to pick up the bill again I urge that the tab is picked up by someone else. Not that I'm out to fleece anyone, but hey, if a kind gentleman would like to pick up the bar bill for my Diet Cokes at £3.50 a time. GG2 does like to point out that I am such a cheap date, however, my philosophy is, if I am not prepared to buy it myself, I will not let any other bugger pay. To which GG2 retorts every time. You're philosophy is Bullshit, skin the bugger's make them pay.
After aghast eyes stare at the Hoover for a few seconds GG2 turns to the gentleman behind:
GG2: Excuse me, is that the Times, or the Guardian?
Gentleman (Mr T.): The Times.
GG2: Oh is it?
Mr T.: Yes, it is.
GG2: I lurve the Times, I read it every weekend, I especially enjoy the horoscope section.
GG1: (under breath) Original!
GG2: (girly giggle) Would you mind?
Mr T.: Be my guest.
She took the whole broadsheet; and it was the broadsheet version, I thought they'd stopped printing them, right over to our table. Try as we might we could not find any section of the Times that had a horoscope printed. Poor guy wandered around the room the rest of the evening, peering over as if grooming us for some solicit pleasure.
Two and half cocktails later, for GG2 and our confidence booming, I get them all to stand around the bar. Now for those of you have not been to Harvey Nick's Wine Bar, it is something to behold. You have to, at least once, have been there. It is a marvel of cosmopolitan, larger than life characters and that is just the cocktails. One could just sit and people watch all evening, the guys certainly do. In the centre of the room is the bar which is circular, with beautifully displayed bottles of infused vodka. There are high stools all around the rim and you can't help wishing that the counter had a "Lazy Susan" fitted to it, as a decoy for potential pervs.
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