It’s a little while again since I last posted, I know. Sorry. Things have been a mite hectic and I’ve been a bit… um… preoccupied.
I’ve been working, sure, but I’ve seen my a-ha party man again since I last wrote a blog entry and it was even better that time than the first time. Is that even possible? Well, yes, actually, it is. But enough of that, because it’s far too personal to put into a blog which is visible to all.
Anyway, the following day, I killed time in London because I had a gig to go to that evening in Threadneedle Street in the City. Part of that time killing involved going to see Julia, an old friend I hadn’t seen for ages (so long, in fact, that she’d forgotten she hadn’t told me she’d moved work places, so I made two journeys trying to find her…). It was great to catch up and I realised then how much I’d missed her and I now can’t wait to, as she put it in a text later on, ‘go out on the lash’ with her again.
The band: Then Jerico. They were always close to my heart, and this was the first time I’d been to see Mark Shaw while single. I’d seen him countless times, but I was with someone every time, and the short time I was single in between, I didn’t see him. So this time, it was different. It was also special, as it was Mark’s 50th birthday. I’d bought him a card earlier on in the day and gave it to him quite early on, for which he said I was ‘sweet’. He was late for the gig itself, of course. Old habits, and all that. I sat at a table with a woman who had bought me a drink while we waited to go in and who then let me share her wine (thanks, Kat) and her friend, texting friends about where I was and generally getting a bit pissed. Then later on, Mark played a couple of old TJ classics and I couldn’t sit any more. I got up. I danced. I looked him in the eye. I made my feelings blindingly obvious, and my reward was Mark coming right up to me with his face only inches from mine. Heavenly. He may be 50 now, but he hasn’t lost any of his charm and he also still has his looks.
I was staying with a friend in Brighton that night and needed to leave earlier than I’d have liked so I could catch my train. I waited for Mark, spoke to Steve and Foley (hi, guys) and waited for Mark a bit more. There was something I wanted to tell him and I wanted to do it before I left, while it was still a fresh idea in my mind. Steve said to me it would be OK to go to see him in the dressing room downstairs (if anyone from the Mercer is reading this, please note that this is the truth – I had band permission, OK?). So I did. I walked in, Mark came over and I wished him a happy birthday with a huge hug and he kissed me – friendly, smack on the mouth. I swooned. Still with my arms around his neck, I told him what I wanted to say. His response was lovely and very sexy and, no, I’m not telling you what I said, or what he said.
Happy, I left and went to Mo’s place, staying up late talking about all sorts of bullshit (nothing new there, then). I think it was about 3 o’clock before we finally crawled into bed. I shared Mo’s room, sleeping on the sofa bed. Unfortunately, this is usually where her two greyhounds sleep, so I had to shift them. One slept with Mo and the other migrated back, so I slept with her bum next to my head and she woke me in the middle of the night – her foot shifted and whacked me in the face. Charming.
The next day, I met my parents at Brighton station and we went to London Bridge on our way to the Kent village where my instructor lives. He’d agreed for a few of us to do a suang yang and qigong demonstration at the church fête to try to recruit a few new students. We were there first, as there were traffic problems, so we spent some time in a pub Dave had recommended before making our way to his house where a few of us convened before making our way down the road to the fête. We were told what we’d all be doing – not all the same thing at the same time, as we only had about twenty minutes to fit in as much as possible. At the last minute, Dave sprung a surprise on us by telling us we were all to go up and attack Shkar and he would fight us off using suang yang moves. I think we all ended up on the floor at least once, which was probably fairly amusing for those watching.
Afterwards, a few people left and the rest of us went back to Dave’s house for a while. Dave turfed Shkar and Alex off the sofa so my parents could sit down and the rest of us sat on the floor, playing with the kids and looking at old club photos while we drank coffee. It couldn’t last long – there was a kids’ demo in another village, and that was when my parents and I left to catch a train back. Any later and we would have missed the train. But it was lovely for me to have them finally meet my brilliant kung fu instructor (they liked him instantly, as I had known they would) and some of my kung fu brothers and sisters.
That evening, I found I was exhausted. I had stayed with Matt in Brighton after training on Wednesday, with nameless man on Thursday (for the record, yes, *I* know his name, of course, but I’m not telling *you*), with Mo on Friday and to a field in Kent on Saturday. Frankly, I was completely knackered, but it was a good knackered, because I’d filled the week with activity and that’s just the way I like a week to be.