Ukrainian vodka, dancing and David Bowie

The party on Thursday was good, I got to meet a strange mix of people and ended up having my portrait taken for a 'live installation' because I had an interesting look or at least the artist's assistant wanted my phone number. I drank as much wine as I could but even so the whole event cooled down at around 10pm so I got a fairly early night really, not like last night...

I met up with A's manager in the pub as I am going to help her out with a couple of things and he thought it would be worth having a chat about this properly (I've met him a few times and he is an absolutely splendid chap) After a few drinks in our local pub the manager and the promoter scampered off to do various weekend things and A and I were left to our own devices, which is when the evening got good.

First we went to a brilliant little Italian place on the Old Brompton Road and had fantastic pizzas and two bottles of wine. We did some more sharing of dark secrets, real military grade secrets this time and when we finally moved on we were both absolutely ruined. A agreed that crashing at my flat (Which I have to myself this weekend) was the wisest course of action, so we stumbled off towards it, arm in arm.

Sadly we got distracted by what turned out to be a real gem. A Ukrainian bar appeared out of no-where (Actually I think it is a restaurant) so we ended up drinking passion fruit vodka with the owner and toasting in Russian. Once we moved on to the strawberry vodka we heard music downstairs and went to investigate. A chap was playing a guitar and singing folk music so we had a good dance to that while swigging back more interesting flavoured drinks (the owner gave us some free ones as well).

I think at some point while resting between songs we had a bit of a chat about the situation between us, although I'm not entirely sure. I say think because the entire evening is a bit of a haze, but it doesn't end there. I'm desperately trying to remember if anything useful was mentioned or not.

We arrived at my flat and A was blown away by the harbour, and wanted to go swimming in it (It is pretty toxic so that wasn't a terribly wise plan) but we did end up sitting in the rain, in not many clothes looking at the boats for a while before we ended up in my flat.

Again A was impressed by the flat and she scampered about investigating the rooms before falling in love with the balcony, at some point both our trousers got removed because they were wet. There is a 'gap' in my memory but we watched Labyrinth, or at least were in the same room while it played, in bed together. And then suddenly A was full of life again, from the healing power of David Bowie I assume, and scampered about demanding bed-time stories before she finally collapsed into the spare bed.

What a splendid evening. I'm still no wiser as to the situation between us but I think for the moment my hangover takes precedent. And yes, the photo above is an actual photo of said trousers this morning.