The Perfect Friday Night


The perfect Friday night. What is it? Well tonight I had two options (sort of.)

The opportunity was there to glam up, and swan off to dinner with mates - sans husband who is at a work thang - at the gorgeous and yummy restaurant, 95 Keerom St. I would engage in witty conversation with my book scout friend; have intense - and edifying let me tell you - discussions with my other old friend about her the reconstruction and development she has done on herself in Greyton this week; get the lowdown on SA's hot hot hot music scene from the scout's husband; all while I ate delectable carpaccio of linefish, probably cob, perfectly offset by an excellent Springfield Sauvignon Blanc. All this and I get to watch the whose who air kissing as they meet and greet. This would be followed by some serious dancing at a concert being held in a seriously cool small venue (the only way to do it) that the music guru would slide us into.

Unfortunately no babysitter was forthcoming so plan number two is in operation. Open a bottle of icy cold Chardonnay whilst bathing children. Glug down first glass. Bath kids, storytime, bed kids all by 7.10pm. Ding dong, Asian takeaways at the door. Wolf 'em down watching some crappy TV, then into bed with a September edition of the New Yorker (life is getting a little on top of me I confess), and then to sleep. Bliss.The doorbell just rang. Dinner's here. Good night.