Nights of fun - pt 1

It is rare that I chose to catch the last train home from London, as it does not pull into Gillingham until almost 1am and is usually full of drunken louts and shady characters that I would otherwise chose to avoid, but this last weekend I ended up on it three times in a row.

On Thursday I was invited out with a group to go to a 60's Roller Disco near Vauxhall, a suburb of London that so far I had never has reason to visit. As I knew that I was coming back to Gillingham on a late train I decided against trying to take fancy dress clothes, and considering how poor my skating turned out to be this was a wise choice.

To see a piteous fool slipping and sliding all over the place, like a punch drunk octopus on land, is bad enough, but to see one dressed in bell bottom jeans, fake Afro and anti-war make up then one loses their pity and only sees the fool.

My friends were great fun, especially one who is as totally drop dead sexy and sweet of face that only a 21 year old model can be, and so I had the added problem of trying to not look a complete idiot in front on someone I was instantly keen on. { Needless to say she already has a boyfriend and needless to say I wasn't told until the end of the night. Sigh }

After being the first ones there { a personal first for my friend who I swear was born late and feels that this is the only way to live } I was eager to try and get my skating legs on, but it wasn't more than five minutes before I almost ended up with three broken ribs, thanks to some management jobsworth { who clearly never learned to skate themselves } and decided that cast iron traffic barrier railing with no padded skirting is the ideal way to section off areas!

Two hours later I began to feel that my ankles were suffering and it was a monumental relief when I finally gave in and removed the hellish masochistic devices of torture, after which even the briefest of glances could tell that I was now the proud owner of several puffy bruises which would get worse before they got better.