Tombolas and giant pants

Oh my goodness me, well so much has happened since I last posted!
After the tombola and raffle ticket washout that was the school fete (gym display in the rain anyone???) I went home and started to get ready for my night out. I cringed over and over in the bath as I cast my mind back over the conversation I’d had with one of the parents where they said, “Oh I’ve been meaning to say congratulations for months but haven’t got round to it” and I replied, “Well, it didn’t work out I’m afraid; he left after four months. It’s hard but I’m coping”. The parent looked completely gobsmacked and dropped the candy floss they were carrying before gulping and saying, “I was actually talking about the first set of your headship exams!”
I nearly died.
I could have gone and drowned myself in the hook a duck bucket. Pointed to the fact that maybe I have been more than a little preoccupied with supertwat though.

The rest of the fete had passed relatively without incident and despite the rather heated argument between two parents about a raffle ticket mix up (never take on a Nan who thinks their ticket is the winning one for a fish supper at the local sit-down chippy) it was a fairly successful do and raised just under two grand. It was rather awkward though, trying to choroeograph a gym display when your legs are still apparently made of rock from trainer boy’s beastly workout.

So, I got ready and waited for my mate to arrive to pick me up. I had decided on a short black mini dress with a waist belt but realised that I was going to need some fairly passion killing knickers on with them as when I bent over I revealed my posterior to the world. With this in mind, I fished out a pair of giant black knickers that I’m sure could double as a portable army barracks and got ready.

We went into the local town and started on the champagne cocktails. I downed the first one fairly quickly as I was a little embarrassed due to the comments of the taxi driver. As I tried to get out of the back of the car (for heaven’s sake, who has a 2 door taxi????) I ended up giving him a full flash of the passion killers underneath my dress. His response was “bloody hell love; you’d need a tin opener and a guy rope to get in those!” I didn’t leave a tip.

I’d also had to make my mate walk behind me up the open staircase into one bar as there was a rugby team underneath it and I wasn’t about to flash my marquee style undercrackers at anyone so soon.

We went from bar to bar round town and I was soon the wrong side of a load of cocktails and vodkas. The pain in my legs had temporarily subsided although I do believe I may have, at this point, had my brain removed as this can only explain what happened next. I started to text trainer boy to ask him to come into town. He was out in his local area about half an hour in the car away and I was getting a bit bored as my mate was snogging the face off some bloke she met in a chip shop last week (we’re dead classy!!) and his mates were so grim I think they would have been disqualified from a gurning competition.
He replied that he would try to get over but he couldn’t drive as he’d been drinking. The texts then got braver and braver and when I checked my sent items the next day in my phone my cheeks almost spontaneously combusted!
However, despite the clumsily worded, semi pornographic and utterly rubbish attempts at mild flirtation that were in actual fact about as subtle as a cricket bat in the chops, Trainer boy surprisingly still wanted to see me on Sunday.

He came round and we sat in my garden for a bit before going for another long walk at another local beauty spot; god I’m turning into some sort of National Trust professional hiker – in the slightly altered words of Ant and Dec, “Let’s get ready, let’s get ready, let’s get ready to ramble!”

We had a lovely walk in the sunshine and then we went for lunch at a really nice local hotel. We had just sat down for a nice lunch when I needed the loo. I nipped off to go and then was really freaked out. My brother and his fiancee were in the foyer by the entrance to the toilets. There was no way I could go to the loo without going past them but I didn’t want them to see me on a date as I knew they’d want to come over and say hi but I thought it was a but early. However, I just had to go to the loo so had to bite the bullet. It ended up with them coming to say hi to trainer boy and him just about dying of embarrassment! Poor guy, only a third proper “date” and he’s meeting the family – I could have crawled under one of the lettuce leaves in my salad and died for him!

After out family gatecrashed lunch, we popped down to a local shopping centre to try and buy me a new telly. Trainer boy is a complete gadget fiend and so he spent the next couple of hours talking to me about high resolution images and pixels – imagine my delight….
It was actually quite nice and he was so lovely, holding my hand and pointing things out for me and steering me away from the rubbish models. For the first time in ages I felt really settled and happy and he was a complete gent.

When we got back to my house, we opened a bottle of champagne and drank it in the sunshine. It was then that my house phone rang and I dashed upstairs to find it, still holding my glass of champagne. However, I’d forgotten that I’d left a drawer in my room wide open and as I ran in to find the phone, I ran straight into the open drawer. I screamed as it whacked into my knees and both me and the champagne went flying. Trainer boy came hurtling upstairs to see why I was screaming and found me writhing in agony with a cut knee and shins and my glass of champagne smashed all over the floor. Trainer boy was so lovely, bless him, he helped me up and sat me on the bed and for the second time in a week, my hands were all cut up with glass. He cleaned them up for me and then noticed that all the champagne on the floor was spilling towards my hairdryer and straighteners. He grabbed a black cloth that was on the floor and mopped it all up before I ruined some more electrical equipment so he was very surprised when, covered in blood, I started shrieking and lunging for him. He jumped backwards and ended up sat on the floor just staring at me as I lunged at him yelling again.
You see, the black cloth he was using the mop up the champagne was in actual fact, my enormous knickers from the night before that I’d just dumped drunkenly on the floor the night before!

Trainer boy realised it was the cloth I was after and shook it out and just about cracked a perfectly formed rib when he realised he was using my granny pants as a cloth. “Well” he said, “I know that secretly I want to get your knickers off but if they’re like this then I reckon I need to get down the gym a bit more as it’d take a strong man to get these off!”

Now, I’m not sure if you’ve ever been on a date where you end up covered in blood in your own bedroom with broken glass embedded in your hands, a giant cut and bruise on your shins and a personal trainer using your knickers as a vileda supermop but I don’t recommend it – it does nothing for the ego.

Anyway, there’s more to tell about what happened later, including the “plus one” conversation which is the sweetest thing that’s happened to me for ages but I need to crack on with some work now so I’ll sign off for the moment.

Thanks again for reading ladies and remember, the use of laundry baskets are essential for maintaining one’s dignity!!!!!


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