Oh My Giddy Aunt...
Last night Emma and I went out and committed some random acts of Valentine's Day terrorism. The way you do. Having both been shat on from a great height in the last year VD seemed a perfect time to vent some anger on men in general and get up to some mischief. The evening started gently enough in the Marriott Park Lane but we were soon to leave a trail of carnage across the West End; running into restaurants, laughing at mournful faced couples with nothing to say to each other sitting down for overpriced table-for-two set dinners, extinguishing candles with water-pistols, shouting "Down with love!" and "All men are c*nts!" God, we must have been right pains in the arse. But we did laugh. A lot. And drink. A lot.
Actually we probably laughed and drank a little too much come to think of it. We consumed five (yes, FIVE) bottles of champagne in various establishments. And I'm only just now beginning to remember some of the stuff we did. Through the fog a name comes to mind (Francis Johnson? Scottish RADA? Something about a show reel?). And a place we ended up (Bar Code was it?). And a late night phone call (oops! sorry!).
Mischief making to one side, it was actually amazingly good therapy for us both. Emma and I got all the anger out of systems, made some positive decisions and ended up very drunkenly celebrating love in all it's many forms.
Positive decision #1: I love Emma. She's fab!