Monthly Archives: November 2014


We shall never speak of it again….


OK, so you wanted more of my particular full fat life, and so here’s a recap of my latest weekend.

My lovely Moley and I had decided some time ago that we really needed to get away more. Partly so that we could let stepson and girlfriend borrow the flat for the weekend, but mainly because we’ve been cooped up here with the telly most of 2014 and it was driving us mad.

Now he has a car we can pootle about, so the other week we went to Norwich and this week we decided to book a night in Eastwood Hall, and go to the Monsters of Mock night in Derby. It would be fun, we thought!


Clearly my powers of positivity are a bit rusty because as the weekend got closer, things started to go a bit wrong. Someone poked holes in two of the tyres on the car on Bonfire night. We could have put it down to idiots except that we’ve already had a passive aggressive note from someone who doesn’t like Moley parking in the place where it happened. It wasn’t near a house, garage or gate, all it was close to was a grass verge. Either way, on Thursday morning we had to call someone out to fit two new tyres. The air was blue.

Never mind, we thought, we’ve got the weekend to look forward to.

We drove up to Eastwood in a good mood, the drive was uneventful and the weather was OK. But we both separately had a feeling that perhaps heading 25 miles into the centre of Derby, which we don’t know, and in the dark, might not actually have been a great idea. Moley was also unimpressed at the thought of standing for four hours to watch Kiss and Darkness tribute bands. but both of us thought the other really wanted to go, so after a late-running dinner in a spit and sawdust Hungry Horse pub, we set off.


The venue had been changed, but the tickets had the name of the new venue on them, with the postcode. Except it was the postcode of the OLD venue, so using the sat nav for directions, we arrived at the Assembly Rooms in Derby City Centre, assuming that new venue ‘The Spot’ must be nearby as the postcode was the same.

Only it wasn’t. The postcode was wrong.  And I needed a wee SO badly that I was in pain. We walked down the road into the city centre, eventually finding a helpful kebab van owner who told us to head “down that way, keep going, and going, and then go over the roundabout and you’ll get there”

Not what a girl with a fit-to-burst bladder wants to hear.

I minced painfully to the nearest place I could find – a McDonalds – so they are good for something then? Relieved, I went to find Moley who was now in even less of a good mood because he’d checked his bank account only to realise that paying for the tyres had more or less emptied it. We carried on down the road….no sign of the venue. It started to rain. I got my phone out and tried to work out where we were headed, but we still couldn’t work it out, walked about half a mile in completely the wrong direction and then decided neither of us were in the mood any more so we were going to go back to the car.

Never mind, I thought, I’ll grab a bottle of wine on the way home and we’ll just chill out for a bit there. We found our way back to the car park and…Moley had locked the keys in the car. He’d parked up in a tight spot close to a pillar in the multi storey, and had to climb out the passenger side, so he locked the driver’s side door from the inside and forgot to take the keys out of the ignition.

At this point, I think we might both have been on the verge of tears. “Just ring the RAC” I suggested, desperately hoping that they covered this type of emergency. Luckily they did and they were great. We both had visions of waiting there in that draughty car park for hours, but he turned up within about 30 minutes and the job was done. As we drove away, we both heard a rattling noise on the car – possibly a result of a hasty reverse manoeuvre after the sat nav took us down a one way street in the dark. It seemed to stop once we got going.

Almost home and dry….except that on the way out of Derby there’s a long road called Brian Clough Way, at the end of which is a big roundabout where they are doing lots of roadworks. This roundabout takes you into Eastwood, and another small town, and to both the north and south flowing M1. The only exit we didn’t try was the M1 south. The sat nav kept insisting we needed to take the 5th exit, but what she really meant was M1 north. We went round that bloody roundabout and in the wrong direction a good three times before eventually noticing the M1 north sign which was partially obscured by a roadwork sign.

By this time we were both so utterly pissed off that we barely spoke all the way back and I decided that I didn’t want wine after all because I’d developed a raging stress headache and it would only have made it worse.

The relief when we got back to the hotel was so immense that we both just looked at each other and laughed a bit hysterically.

“We’ll joke about this in years to come” Moley said.

The hotel was OK, although the bed was a bit on the small side and I didn’t get a lot of sleep. The breakfast was lovely but I started to feel a bit queasy and didn’t finish it. I didn’t think anything of it until we got back to Bury St Edmunds, only to have to lock myself in the bathroom. It seems like the meal I had at the pub might have been a bit dodgy. OF COURSE!

I’m pleased to admit that the journey home was uneventful.

I really need to work on my positive energy if this is what I’m attracting! And I think we both need to start listening to our intuition a bit more, and when I start to question the sanity of driving into a town 30 miles away that we don’t know, in the dark, I need to listen to my sensible voice!

I hear the glam rock night was fun without us, though….