Ladies’ night

Hmmm, I am starting this post with a rare moment of grammatical head-scratching. I am not entirely sure that I have apostrophised (if that’s not a word then it should be) correctly in the title, in that I am not entirely convinced an apostrophe is necessary. Anyway, I digress – I am sure fellow grammatical pedants out there will correct any error, and I can empathise with the nervous twitch of grammatical affront that will accompany said correction…

So, firstly a report on the trial of abstinence. So far so good – my only slip was when I had some toast with my mum’s homemade raspberry jam (possibly my favourite foodstuff on the planet) the other day without even thinking. As I was savouring the sweetness I had a crash of realisation that, if I’m serious about cutting out sugar, the jam will have to go. Nooooo! So I shall be experimenting with mashed banana on toast, or possibly making some kind of fruit spread made just from stewing dried or fresh fruit, sans sugar. Will let you know how it goes…

Apart from that, my first two proper tests came yesterday, and I passed with flying colours. Firstly, I spent the day at work with a carrot cake within arm’s reach and managed to restrain my hand. Secondly, I was out on the town (kind of – see below for further details) in Birmingham last night and managed to sup sparkling water all evening. If you have it in a small enough glass you can kid yourself it’s some kind of sophisticated vodka drink, I found.

I was in Birmingham with two friends for ‘Singles’ night at the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery’, which I had been invited along to and decided would be an intriguingly different Friday night experience, plus a more sophisticated take on the old dating game. Well, women outnumbered men at least ten to one and the best talent in there was the band (often the case I find, being a sucker for a man with a guitar and a growly voice) so it wasn’t exactly a hotbed of potential romance. Nevertheless, it was a very enjoyable evening, set against the elegantly ornate backdrop of the museum’s interior; dancing along to Mustang Sally in the uber-grand Round Room being ogled disapprovingly by giant portraits was an interesting experience. Here are some of the things I learnt:

  1. That my ignorance of art movements knows no bounds. Hands up if you thought the pre-Raphaelite movement was, well, pre-Raphael, i.e. really, really old (don’t ask me for dates)? Well, so did I. The clue seemed to be in the name, I thought. However, it transpires that the pre-Raphaelites were a group of blokes from London in the mid 1800s who decided to go all romantic and back-to-nature in a pre-Raphael stylee, in rebellion against Victorian conservatism. Who knew? (Probably most of you, but hey…)
  2. That my puerile sense of toilet humour knows no bounds. Of all the art within those magnificent walls, the piece that I loved the most was a table full of homemade turds. Some had eyes, some were made to look like Father Christmas – it was hi-lar-ious, I tell you. But, seriously, I did really appreciate what the guy was trying to do – he mixed up religious iconography with objects that looked like emotive things such as turds and phalluses, not to mention some freaky-looking animals such as a panda with its eyes set above the black patches, and set it all out as though it was an altar, overcrowded with the usual garish colours and iconography tat. His name was Rafal Zar – a very talented, and possibly insane, bloke I thought, in my extremely humble opinion.
  3. That art can give you nightmares. In one gallery there were life-sized human models with exaggerated features made of painted wood, with fearful expressions and goggly eyes that seemed to follow you around the room. The male figure at the front was almost naked and holding a sheep’s head on a stick. But the seriously creepy thing was that each model had real, human teeth. Shudder…
  4. That emotive music plucks the heartstrings just as much in real life as it does when you’re watching a film. I thought it was a nice touch that, in the pre-Raphaelite gallery, they had the very talented Deborah Rose singing beautiful folky melodies. It really did make me appreciate the paintings more – I found myself getting sucked into the stories of anguished lovers and frustrated dreams that they depicted.
  5. That I am quite happy being single, thank you very much. Not actually being particularly interested in finding a date (not least because they might ask me about art), I was happy to sit back and observe, and it was most interesting, especially given the slightly odd vibe of contrived date-seeking. Even though men were thin on the ground, it didn’t prevent them sharking in a way that only men can. The whole scene reminded me of a hunting scene from a wildlife documentary – perhaps wolves and wild mustangs (maybe because Mustang Sally is still in my head): the large groups of women looked flighty, shifting feet nervously, throwing wild looks around and occasionally snorting or whinnying, whilst the men circled stealthily, looking for a weaker specimen to separate from the pack. Very entertaining – we are but mammals, after all…

Anyway, enough drivel from me. My first dating evening and still single; my first night on the town and still on the wagon. All good in beckymayhem world! 🙂

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This entry was posted in Dating game, Grammatical pedantry, Healthy eating. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Ladies’ night

  1. Chelle Ryland says:

    Well done! I went to a house party on Saturday and survived on sparkilng grape juice and sparkling water too. And drunk from a wine glass – no one around me cottoned on to harass me into having ‘a proper drink’. Score!

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