Actually that is a lie. I went to a posh theatre in Potters Bar to watch a group of people perform street dancing. It was one of those things where you attend a class a couple of times a week and then once a year your group puts on a show and you charge your friends and family to come and watch you show off.
My friend was in it and she asked me if I fancied coming as I had expressed an interest before. Her mum and dad were coming so I thought I’d do the correct thing and come along, it was only £8.00.
I probably should not have gone out the night before. I went out with Reiss to the Mucky Pup and we did not get home until gone 5am, not very clever when you have to be up at 9am to make the epic journey to Potters Bar by bus because the trains are messed up.
I actually arrived early and to my delight I discovered a pub opposite the theatre, enough time for a lovely pint of London Pride in the beer garden. I felt a bit out of place as the beer garden suddenly swelled up with people and children who had been to see the first show (they did two performances as they had a lot of people in the groups).
Just when I thought about going inside I saw my friend across the road texting me. I picked up my phone before the text arrived like I had some kind of instinct. I replied back that I was waving at her, she had to put her glasses on in order to see me across the road!
She was really good. I didn’t spot her make any mistakes, unlike the others who seemed to mess up every couple of minutes, she was also the only one acting professional by not waving at people during the dancing. It was bloody hot in there though, I’m guessing posh people don’t need dehumidifiers. Maybe that is why you always see people fanning themselves in theatres.
Afterward we went across the road to the pub to meet herm mum and dad. Her mum doesn’t like me because I’m a Millwall fan, but her dad was alright and we had a nice chat about different bitters and ales we like.
We drove back to her place where I was attacked by her kitten while she ordered a fantastic curry. Once we had stuffed ourselves, and the cat had tired of attacking me, we vegged out in front of the telly. Living quite a way away form me she allowed me to stay the night in her son’s room as he was poncing about in some university down south.
Obviously I had to turn my phone off because my dad was phoning me every five minutes demanding to know where I was and what time I was coming home.
32 dad, I’m 32.