Gather round me Admiring Hordes, for i have been Out. I’m not usually a fan of Out, i find In preferable – it’s warmer, cheaper and tends to have lower crime rates. But it was my lovely friend Kate’s birthday and, while tempted by the offer of sitting on the end of my bed watching me read, she’s a firm traditionalist at heart and decided Fun was a more appropriate form of celebration. Fair enough.

A merry time was had. Even to my unpractised eye, this was some textbook fun. The only gigantic turd in the ointment was that we were out in Soho. Frankly, after 8pm i don’t like Soho. Night-time Soho can suck its own balls, and would probably make itself queue for an hour and charge itself a tenner for the privilege of sucking its own balls, while making very clear to itself that more important people were enjoying the Chill-Out Zone in its anus.

Sample dialogue from the night.
Me: (looking very nice, if i say so myself, i was aiming to look like a budget Daisy Lowe, for i am a woman of ambition and limited means.) (Also, looking confusedly at Hix, a restaurant apparently too trendy for doors)

Nat: (to doorman): Hello, how do i get in please?
Doorman: (let’s just call him Cock-Head for short) Through the door.
Nat: That’s very good (Polite Lie – i thought it was the response of a Cock-Head, hence his name) And where’s the door please?
Cock-Head: BEHIND ME.

Long pregnant pause.

Nat: So..? (I made a small mime as if to bundle him. Classic passive-aggression from our hero)
Cock-Head: Do you have a reservation?
Nat: An ever-growing list. (He didn’t get it, it was quite a subtle joke) Yes.
Cock-Head: Let’s check that shall we?

And i was frogmarched in as if i’d rocked up to Downing Street and said ‘Hi, Dave said he’d paint my toenails if i couldn’t be arsed, so..’

Still, on the plus side, Mum likes it when I’ve been out. She can pretend I’m the reckless wild-child she thinks she wants me to be (but really, if i was, she’d quickly tire of raking up the condoms outside my room and getting my stomach pumped. It’s more fun in theory.)

Mum and i used to work together in a hotel and whenever i’d turn up after a night out she’d take a knowing look into my eyes and tut ‘Nataliiiee…your pupils are like pinpricks!’ This is genuinely true. It would make her sound knowledgeable about drugs and would make me sound like a fun groovy drugs-taker. I think Mum was titillated by the idea of saying to her mates ‘Natalie does drugs. Well, you know London..’ and looking wise.

I never minded as i never took drugs so i felt blameless. Though years later i realised, while Mum was implying i was a hedonist who took pills in nightclubs, actually that causes big pupils, and the small pupils she was accusing me of having were more symptomatic of heroin abuse. I liked the idea of other staff at the hotel saying:

‘You know Nat?’
‘What nice girl, looks like a budget Daisy Lowe?’
‘Who the fuck is Daisy Lowe?’
‘Never mind. Anyway, apparently Nat does skag.’
‘That might explain her lack of hand-eye co-ordination.’

Bless her. I think Mum and i are finally accepting we will never be the people we want each other to be. I gave her back her present of Mamma Mia! and she has binned the spices i got her. I refuse to dance flamboyantly, her food refuses to taste of anything, and we accept this.