right said small town

After immersing myself in the second successive Gilmorefest, I’m beginning to believe that if you watch something enough, you’ll probably grow tired of it.  You must be thinking - what on god’s green earth is Gilmorefest? Well for the fortunate few who are pondering, you’ve probably avoided the television phenomena known as ‘The Gilmore Girls’. I’m not even sure it has a ‘the’ in the title, but my brain hurts and I’m not googling it.  Despite being firmly in the ‘hate it’ camp for years, I grew soft in my old age and started to value the charm, the formulaic speedy diatribes, the pain, the heartache, their joy, their sorrow. It’s just that two weekends of none stop Gilmore later, I feel drained and exhausted. You’re worried? So am I!

We did however tear ourselves away from the TV long enough to throw on a pair of heels, a slightly mental floral skirt (I speak for myself here) and stalk up the hill (all of ten paces) to the pub. A few appletini’s and 3 bottles of rosé later we were singing into pool cues, throwing pounds at the juke box and picking out some dancefloor classics.

Newcomers to our town will be forgiven for thinking that The White Hart is not really your average dancing establishment. Maybe you’d think that a quiet drink and a bit of Bruce on the jukebox would suffice, but that’s an entirely different night all together. On those nights I’ll battle your ‘Streets of Philadelphia’ with an upper cut of Celine Dion. This particular Saturday night however was reserved for dancing. What with the one and only night club in our town charging a whopping £8 (eight English pounds!) for entry and overpriced alcopops, we know how and where to make our own fun. So do Right Said Fred. We strutted our stuff to Beyonce and some upbeat Celine, but as soon as “I’m too sexy” slowly crept through the stereo pipes, my dancing buddy was throwing shapes and jackets in ways I’d never seen shapes and jackets thrown. I was close to tears and bent double in hysterics. The owner of the pub, decided that it was too good to be missed, and within minutes her husband was part of the audience. We thank our lucky stars on occasion that she has a sense of humour.

With exhaustion setting in and the end of the work day (yes! I’m at work) slowly approaching I bid you farewell. Please exercise caution and moderation where television is concerned.