We met at Host. It was sunny and windy up there. This upstairs outdoor bar is in the middle of town bang on the crossroads. It’s the most wonderful vantage area where you feel on top of the world and on top of Bishop’s Stortford. You can spy on passers-by, hail randoms who might be passing, and invite maties up for gin.
Just Boring had already got in a mahoosive jug of Pimms. She said ‘What starts with P and ends with S and gives you unlimited pleasure?’
‘And can be enjoyed long?’ we queried, slurping away. It was not quite as strong as our very own Turbo Pimms (Top Tip: add a bottle of gin and forget to add any extra lemonade.)
I don’t know why Gin Club gets so bawdy. Might be to do with the fact it’s on a Friday evening and we really need to let our hair down. (Mine, mind you, cannot be let down, it can only be let out.)
Jet-setting Jen told us about how she saw a parrot in a cage whizzing past on a bike in Peterborough. God, now I’m feeling the pressure to take my parrots out for blinkin bike rides, whatever next?
Mad Lucy’s bloke phoned. ‘Tell him to get off the phone, we’re talking about fucking!’ yelled Just Boring. This was a lie. Just Boring does not like men interrupting gin.
Jet-setting Jen looked genuinely confused. ‘We were talking about blankets, not about fucking,’ she protested. Damn, are we really that boring that we talk about blankets? Jen also wants the world to know that she is totally submissive to her husband. I think that was a joke, but you never know after a couple of jugs of Pimms.
Mad Lucy was trying to get something out of her hair. ‘Is that hair product?’ asked Tu-Jin-Su, who is up on such things.
‘No. It’s spunk,’ replied Mad Lucy. She is mad, you see. She likes to think she is having great hair-slurrying sex, like, all the time.
Just Boring started narrowing her eyes, quoting Miss Halligan from Annie, God knows why. Honestly, three jugs of Pimms and there is no continuity! ‘Little girls, little girls, everywhere I look I can see them.’ Shame the ‘mad’ epithet has been used up already. It’s true though that once you meet Just Boring’s little kid, it is kinda hard to get her out of your head. Not that you would want to, I add hastily. I took her for her flute exam the other day. ‘Should we write down which pieces we have chosen?’ I asked the invigilator.
‘No, this examiner likes to chat to the candidates about their choices,’ he said.
‘Oh, may the Lord save his poor soul,’ I said. She’s Grade 8 already in chatting.
I wrestled money for the kitty from my phone-pouch. The girls had a good laugh at this pouch because it is beige and crocheted. Hey, you must admit I am ‘litrally’ the only person in the world who never loses their phone. Honest they would fly off the shelves. We should go into immediate pouch production with this snappy jingle: ‘So uncool that it’s cool!’
Many things have been invented at Gin Club. We are normally too pissed to remember any of them. However, how could anyone forget the crotchless onesie? Why do these not exist? If any garment needs a crotchless bit, it would be the onesie, as they’re a right old pain to peel off when you want a wee, (or a bonk if you are Mad Lucy), and you get cold shoulders. Just googled crotchless onesie and it is in fact a Scientific Funk album! Hmm, most odd.
So we were onto our third jug of Pimms and Just Boring was telling the tale of us going to see the plastic surgery people about maybe getting a nipple made for my reconstructed boob. The nurse told us that you can get these prosthetic nipples made exactly to match the nipple you still have or did have.
I butted in on her story: ‘I really don’t want one of them though. I’m scared it might come off in somebody’s mouth.’
Amidst the gales of laughter this comment provoked, Jet-setting Jen, who is a bit of a whizz in business and the like, came up with a great invention on the spot: edible gummy-bear stick-on nipples for nipple-less peeps. Jingle: ‘Even people with nipples want one!’