A Surgeon, a Lawyer, an Accountant and an Editor walk into a bar. The Editor slips over. Not the beginning of a joke, but the story of my weekend just past. No, seriously. (Cut me some slack. It was raining and the ground was slippery.) We remade the movie Bridesmaids, without a bride. We re-enacted Hot Tub Time Machine, without a hot tub. We flew from Brisbane, Melbourne, Canberra and Sydney (oh, wait. The Melbourne one just walked from her office) to reconnect, relax, escape motherhood and remember who we were in high-school, before adulthood brought us our responsibles and other licorice allsorts of shit.
Friday. Champagne. Real stuff. Pimms cocktails up a lift in a strange bar where people were dressed for tennis, on cast iron chairs on astroturf, outside in 12 degrees…. an interesting combination of choices… But Pimms! Yes to Pimms! Amazing dinner at Anada in Smith St, with Spanish Cava, wine, oysters, jamon, and 10,000 other degustation courses (approximately). I got my freekeh on, not on the dance floor, but in my mouth. Yum. Same same as quinoa but different. More wine was drunk. Eyelids were closed at the table.They may have been the eyelids of the Editor. C’mon guys, cut me some more slack. 11:30 on a Friday night for a full-time working mamata is LATE. My time machine had stalled.
Mess Hall for breakfast Saturday morning is a misnomer. It’s not in a hall, nor is it messy. It is practically perfect in every way. The coffee is the best I’ve had this year, and it’s NOVEMBER. Bourke St. Go to there. Eat all the bacon.
Shopping. Like a woman released from a 15-year gaol term, I was on a mission. A kamikaze smash and grab shopping mission (complete with polite pleases and thank yous, exchanges of funds, and no actual violence.) So, not really actually very smashy or grabby, then, but MISSION nonetheless. We walked past an op-shop. I allowed 10 minutes on the clock. GO. The Surgeon emerged, triumphant. I, too, emerged victorious, $13 down.
The Accountant, a shopping knight, plunged on like a true warrior in Zara after facing earlier defeat. She won Excalibur; not one, but TWO pairs of jeans. And tops and shirts and SO MUCH STUFF. Bags and bags later we kneeled down before her to worship. I had but a paltry pair of (resin and laneway-found) earrings to console me in my darkest, shopping-bagless nights. They will do though. I love them with passion and fervour.
Then, there was napping. PLEASE NOTE: this was not, I repeat NOT a nanna nap. This was beauty sleep. Bernard Fanning needed to see us in optimal condition.
Do you know how far it is to the Yarra from Melbourne? Me neither, but it’s further than a bladder-ride away. Distances are not in kms, miles, or furlongs these days. They come in units of bladders. The Editor was looking for a plastic bag with no holes to contemplate peeing in (best to assume the 3rd person at this point, dont you think?) when the bus decided to arrive at the green, green, very very green Day on the Green, being made extra green by the torrential rain pouring down.
This is kind of long. Lots of words.
You probably want to make a cup of tea or go to sleep or something. How about I do you a kindness and draw this out into TWO LONG SAGA-LENGTH INSTALMENTS? You can perch with bated breath on the edge of your picnic rug to find out what happens in Part 2 of Bridesmaids – Revisited, coming next week to a Face First webpage near you.
I warn you – things may go downhill in Part 2. Rain and wine and mud and stuff.
Nighty night pumpkins!