Tuesday, 21 February 2012

Handbag Vodka On Tour

I didn’t go out this weekend. Unheard of I know. But @susielovesvodka had a date and I couldn’t find a suitable enough victim/fella, to take me on one in time so I resigned myself to an evening in. It was probably wise to give my liver a rest before it started crying pure bile anyway. I was also going to give blogging a rest BUT to celebrate hitting the 1000 followers mark I decided to regale you with a retro twitter adventure.

Now back in November we were still twitter newbies, 68 and 32 followers respectively and not well into the scouse twitter scene like we are now. In fact we were unaware there even WAS a scouse twitter scene. Hell I only ended up following @JesusChristFTM in August because I liked his picture. Even he was light on the follower front at that time. See? I’m a ground leveller me. Anyway we used to chat on the reggers to @JoeThompson_ a sound cockney geezer and decided to go on our first twitter adventure to partyLondon style. Apparently he was gonna show us scousers how it was done. Pfft.

So the £1 Megabus got booked cos we like to travel in style, and a luxury 1 star B&B bang in the centre ofLondon right by Victoria station. Swerve getting taxis out to zone 5, I haven’t got Londoner dough. For 6 hours on the coach down there we laughed at @JesusChristFTM’s tweets and speculated about who he might be. I’m sure every scouse twitterer has done the same. At this point though we never dreamt we’d find out who he was, let alone be able to count him as a friend, just goes to show you never know where life’s gonna take you. But that’s a tale for another time.

This was Susan’s first trip to London so we did a few of the sight seeing bits. My main highlight was goin to laugh at the weapons camped outside St Pauls Cathedral. Occupy My Hoop you stupid hippy scruffs.

At the time I was dating Mr Rugby, who I’m sorry, lookswise was a full on 10 out of 10. He was gorgeous. Ultimately dumped because he was younger than me and I was horrified that he didn’t know a) what Beetlejuice or The Goonies was b) what the cartoon Transformers advert was ‘robots in disguise’ and most importantly c) he had never seen the “Wooooooaaaaahhh Bodyform” advert which I believe defines my generation. Swerved.  I digress, Mr Rugby’s real name was Chris, and so me and Susan went out on Friday night to Covent Garden and began categorising London men into 2 categories. FTC (fitter than Chris) and not FTC. There were A LOT of FTC’s. Ladies, London is crawling with fitties.

Now about once a month my hormones start playing havoc with my emotions and I start feeling a bit needy and mushy. I hit this point about 11pm Friday night and I was steamin for a boss hug. Susan grabbed the nearest passing FTC and screeched at him “Ay you, give me mate a hug raaaaar now!” I know what you’re thinking, and yes, tequila and a lot of handbag vodka had been consumed at this point. The FTC caught completely off guard, bemusedly gave us both a good squeeze and bluntly we sent him packing. Yes we were flying the flag for scouse birds.

@susielovesvodka.....and tequila

Outside while trying to find the way to the tube Susan was handed a leaflet for free fish and chips. We couldn’t find the tube and ended up walking round in circles a few times. Each time Susan was handed a leaflet by the same guy for free fish and chips. By the end she was nearly in tears, “Does he think I’m a fat bitch? Waaaaaaa.” She cried herself to sleep using the leaflets to soak up her tears.

The next night was the night we were supposed to meet Joe so we headed back to Covent Garden and made our way to Roadhouse, some underground club we were assured was ‘sick’. We got there and the queue was 5 people wide and round the block and the bouncer informed us it was £20 to get in. Well let me tell you, I begrudge paying £3 to get in the Raz. I was norappy. We got on the blower to Joe and told him we were going to Leicester square to see what was going on down there. He was at the front of the queue and waved. So technically we got to see his arm and he got to see what outfits we were wearing. That counts as meeting someone right?

Anyway we picked up a couple of cockney escorts, as you do, an got them to take us to Leicester Sq. Everywhere seemed to be £20 to get in. This was a joke. Who the hell does London think it is? Don’t be thinking you’re better than Liverpool cos you ain’t. Nowhere is. We had a cheeky haggle with the ticket fellas and managed to get them to let us into some ‘dope’ club for £10 each and £15 each for the two lads.

Then disaster struck! There was metal detectors and handbag searchers on entry. They got onto our handbag vodka straight away and we had it confiscated. “Can we at least have it back on our way out?” I pleaded.
“Ee jib this then, we’re going.” We snatched out handbag vodka left the lads in there and stormed off. We needed to think of a new plan….
“Susan, stick it down your tights!”
We went to the Maccies bogs to regroup and put our plan B into action. It worked a treat. We got into Penthouse, the club next door sans Handbag Vodka but WITH Tights Vodka.

Penthouse it turns out was amazing. It didn’t make the best first impression though. The first floor was R’n’B and it stank, and I mean STANK of Billy Ocean. Think second floor of Mood vs Camel Club, on a hot day, in the Caribbean, after a zumba class in the middle of a deodorant ban, and you’re halfway there. We legged it upstairs and went the bar. I ordered two shots of tequila and two diet cokes and ignored the barmaids suspicious looks, “What? They searched our bags; give me a shot and a soft drink woman!” When she handed me back a couple of coins in change from a £20 note and Susan asked how much it was, I shook my head, I just didn’t have the heart to tell her.

Cut to us dancing like lunatics to Rihanna and Labrinth and fist pumping like we were in Jersey Shore whilst clutching our gold plated extra strong vodka and diet cokes. I looked out of the window; we were 8 floors up and overlooking Leicester Square. Our view was the London eye and we could tell the time off Big Ben. It was a night I’ll always remember.

Next thing we knew however the DJ was winding the night down and the lights were coming on. It was only 3am. We were just getting warmed up. Screw you London! Cheeky gets, if I pay u a tenner to get in u play music until my feet bleed! That’s the deal, and my feet weren’t even aching at this point.

We collared some club promoter outside who told us about this moody little place called Den down the other end of Shaftesbury avenue that was open til 9am. Yeh that’ll do nicely. So we paid yet another entry fee for a ticket and set off to find this club armed with nothing but iphone maps and a vague notion of the direction we were heading.

Oh my god it took what seemed like hours to find it. We kept picking up more and more party pilgrims along the way. I nearly pissed myself with excitement when I found a discarded hoover knockin about in a shop doorway. Cue us casually hoovering up, down and all around Shaftesbury Avenue at 4am while nearly wetting ourselves laughing. Eventually we found Den and danced until the handbag vodka ran out and until the tubes began again in the morning.

giving Shaftesbury Avenue a good suck

At 7am Sunday morning before going back to the hotel we were due to check out of at 10am(!), we decided to go to Maccies for a brekkie. The toilets were fenced off and the golden seal was a distant memory at this point so we dropped and did a ninja roll (which was extremely elegant….in our heads) under the ropes and snuck down to the bogs before the zombies behind the counter with the spotty grids could collar us.

On the tube home with a face smeared with red sauce,  I cackled away at the other passengers, “AAAAAAAAHHHH! You’re in work an we’re not! We’re pissed.” Then a feeling of dread swept over me, “Oh shit, I’m in work tomorrow. Devoed.”

We got back the hotel and had a total of an hours kip before checking out and slowly died a death in Starbucks until it was time to get on the coach home. Fuck me that was the worst 6 hours of my life. It didn’t help that there were 6 scouse birds screechin the whole way home who couldn’t have had more than 6 brain cells between them. I mean these were the thickest bints you’ve ever heard in your life. Comin out with shouts like, “America doesn’t have a queen cos they haven’t got any history” and
“Yano the way we’ve got the echo, whats Londonslocal paper?”
“It’s the London Echo yano”
“Is it?”
And my personal favourite, “Omg look at those red yellow lines, I’ve heard about them but I’ve never seen them, I need to take a picture quick!”. Really love?
I was fucking fumin the whole way home. Not even @JesusChristFTM’s tweets could make me crack a smile.
And if any of those girls ever learn how to read and read this, you’ll know who you are. Let me tell you something. I hate you and if I ever see you again I’m gonna chop your head off with a tin of Fray Bentos, steak & kidney flavour – ninja star style.




Ps. Never be scared to go on an adventure.