I'm going raving, not this weekend but the weekend after. I can't tell you where because I don't know, its in an undisclosed location. Yeah, that cool. Now, you have probably got the gist so far that I am a mother of two little girls, make wild garlic pesto and chat about swallows...what in bejeezuz's name am I doing going raving?
He likes dance music, all day and all night, Sunday mornings, in the shower, on short journeys to the local Londis, on longer journeys to Scotland - repetitive beats 24/7. Problem is we are both pushing 40, at least 15 years older than everyone else attending this 12 hour dance fest, and trying to get a gang together has proved challenging, even for his birthday. Funnily enough everyone was busy breastfeeding, watching The Voice, too grown up to rave or washing their hair.
So on another misty, grey, wet, rainy, day today I thought that perhaps this is the most exciting thing that has happened in weeks - I thought:
'Instead of moaning inside your head that you are too old to dance all night, get your goddamn ass down to town and purchase some spangly tops and a push-up bra.'
So I did.
Got me eyes done too and had a right old laugh with the make up girl in MAC. I feel brilliant actually, like a firecracker has been put where the sun don't shine and I'm ready to wave my arms in the air like I just don't care.
A asked " Have you got your moves sorted out mummy?"
Yup, reckon I have actually. Perhaps I am not so reluctantly raving after all.