It did turn into one of those epic nights didn't it?
Seeing as I have never gone to see fire works on or around Guy Fawkes and seeing as I absolutely love fire works, it seemed like going to Kensington Roof Gardens for their bonfire party would be a great idea. And as it turns out it was until I woke up the next morning.
Following a fairly inedible meal at Aubaine with Crazy Canadian and SkandiQueen, we queued up on Derry Street, ready for some serious fireworking. Not to mention, wine drinking and flamingo kidnapping. But we'll get to that.
As per usual, Roof Gardens was packed and the odds of us getting any drinks in on the right side of midnight were slim. Instead, I wondered off to try and find the roofgarden flamingos. Armed with alcohol infused bravery, a semi genius plan and a big coat - what could stop me?
It turns out, the security people could. In spite of my extremely subtle questioning and a genuine interest in flamingo keeping they just refused to tell me where they keep the damn birds at night. Fine. I didn't want to get flamingo poo on my Pringle of Scotland cape anyway.
After the failed flamingo hunt, I found my girls again and with no further luck at the bar, Crazy Canadian had a plan. She is so resourceful that one. Before we knew it, we were at some comedy club hidden behind the gardens and although we were probably not suppose to be there - drinks took circa 60 seconds to reach my hands. Which is about a hundred times faster than had we stuck to the main bar.
We found our spot to watch the fireworks and managed to win ourselves some Italian groupies whilst we were at it. We then spent 45 odd minutes listening to their disliking of anything London (know your audience boys!) whilst waiting for the fireworks to get started already. And when they did, I got so excited I may have drenched both Italian groupies and myself in champagne. I learnt that night that a champagne soak does nothing for a good blow dry.
Also, it turned out that my excitement was in vain as these were terrible fireworks. I strongly suggest that their pyro technician goes on a study tour to Disneyworld.
Following the disappointing fireworks, the crazy really got started. As most people know, I'm not big on dancing at all and usually when I do dance - it's a sign of the kind of drunkeness leaving you still a bit tipsy the next day. Crazy Canadian knows this and out of nowhere the shots started to appear. And after that, there sure was dancing. Wear-out-my-Louboutin-soles-level-dancing.
The rest is all a bit blurry to be honest. But I did at one stage come across some rather dapper looking gentlemen in black tie gear who were clearly intoxicated (or possibly mentally unstable) enough to want to hang with us. In other words, they were basically asking for me to steal one of their bowties and wear it as an Alice band. And I looked simply adorable.
More craziness followed and at 4 am or so I stumbled home, Louboutins in hand and my bow tie adorned hair smelling like champagne and passed out in my bed, aka my very best friend.
I suppose the guy won't want his bowtie back any time soon?
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| Pre craziness |
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| At the very beginning of crazy |
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| Unsatisfying fireworks! |
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