I had a gorgeous night on Friday, after a week that was anything but. K cooked some amazing curry (some beetroot, some spinach, some lentil) and five of us ate it in her garden and talked about life and work and boys and, well, stuff. We dissed people we don't like and argued about people some of us like, and put bits of the world to rights and left other bits wrong.
S and L left before it got dark, and K and plumbing S and I hung out for a couple more hours, drinking white wine and pink wine, making gradually less sense but having no problem with that whatsoever. We tore ourselves away eventually as we all had an early start on Saturday, and S and I cycled off into a night that was still warm round the edges.
To get home we had to cross the ring road. On the way there I had followed the CYCLISTS DISMOUNT instructions, and skipped across at the pedestrian crossing, which was scary enough even with the green man beeping. On the way back I followed S up to the traffic lights. 'Is is ok to do this on a bike?' I said. I don't know, she said, but it seems a bit wussy to get off. Time to stand up and be counted.
The lights went green and we flew out across the ring road, crossing six lanes of traffic all stopped for us. We were shrieking with laughter and S stuck her legs out like Pippi Longstocking as we swooped round the bend and off onto the slip road.
I was still grinning like a lunatic when I got home and lay in bed listening to that quintessential urban Friday night sound of police helicopters circling overhead. Work can be bollocks sometimes, but without it I wouldn't have met many of my lovely friends, and time spent with them, as the Snoopy poster on my teenage bedroom wall used to say, is never long enough.
joella
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