I possibly shouldn't be writing this now, as a) it is too early for anyone to be awake on a Saturday b) my heart is still manically skating on the sugar of last night's wine intake and c) I have already started the guilty putting-washing-on process that usually indicates a hangover is brewing further round the corner.
But I am in a state of total bewilderment - do people of a certain age (and I mean very close to 25 and upwards) not go 'out' any more? My friend and I put on our frocks and headed to an indie club in Brighton last night. I haven't been out anywhere that doesn't involve lindy and dancing with people old enough (at least) to be my father for ages so it was all a bit exciting. But, oh God, everyone was about 17 with rounded, happy drunken little faces. We didn't know the music. We weren't wearing skinny jeans. We weren't snogging with abandon. Plus the only time we were spoken to was by two chaps whose opening gambits were 'How old are you?'. Were our faces that haggard? (Albeit, the second one followed this up with 'Can I kiss you?' so that at least was comforting). Am I condemned, Cinderella-esque, to be heading home before midnight from now on?
It was all a bit of a contrast to certain other social situations over the past few weeks, when I felt out of place in a different way and wanted, like Cassandra in I Capture the Castle, to be forty, wearing black and pearls.
I'm going to stop writing now, I really need to eat something.
