Dance! Dance? Dance!

I'm recovering from a night out in Birmingham celebrating Alison's birthday. Ali and I have been close friends since we met at university and there isn't much we haven't talked about or worked through in the last decade.

The photographs are of the view from my hotel room and the dessert (an Ipanema Mess) I had at the restaurant. J looked her usual lovely self and, I suspect, would have prefered it if had 'danced' at the eighties disco we went to after the meal. J is a natural dancer. I stand in night clubs drinking and wishing I were elsewhere. Last night though I promised not to make a big grumpy fuss and therefore succeeded in standing like a statue while vast amounts of overzealous cleavage (not from our party) bounced around to pop songs from twenty years ago. Actually the atmosphere was very good and, if I were a clubbing person rather than a raging danceaphobe, I would enjoyed it greatly. As it was the quality of the group made it a good night out.

Further treats were in store though when J and I returned to the hotel room. Our telly could pick up Spanish programmes, including one which appeared to be like the X Factor without desperate people who cry all the time but with talent. Hugely enjoyable.

Yesterday's entry was titled by a misquote from Kermit the Frog by the way.


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