Thursday, 24 September 2009

Shoobing hell

Shoob hell
Originally uploaded by mariecandme

Yesterday Crispy, Milnoids and I decided to road test the new Champagne bar Epernay in Manchester. I thought that this would be the perfect time to give my mega Shoobs their maiden voyage, mainly because there would be lots of sitting down involved.

Milnoids had to help me into the shoes, which once on my feet made me about 5 inches taller. I’m already 5 foot 7, so even standing still I felt I stuck out a bit. But this was the least of my worries, because when it came to putting one foot in front of the other, I felt like Bambi, on ice, after he’d been shot.

Milnoids helped me out of work, then nipped off to the shop while I negotiated the 20 meters to Wagamamas. I had that tingly warm feeling behind my face, scared to look at anyone in the eye in case they had a look of “shit, that girl can’t walk in those heels” written on their mush.

Wagamamas is completely glass fronted, so I had to negotiate the length of the whole restaurant before I even got in. I caught my reflection in the glass and was horrified at the things that were my legs, the things I used to know how to move. They were now two robotic stilts that were trying in vein to get me to my Yasai Gyoza.

Once we had eaten, I negotiated a slightly longer journey with Milnoids by my side offering the sort of encouragement you give to someone that is recovering from an accident, rather than wearing some impossibly high shoobs. We made it into the bar and I plonked myself down, more than ready for my first cocktail.

Now, in one of the earlier issues of Marie Claire I was following – I was urged to join the Marie Claire Diet club for a free week. Some members on the forum there recommended Glenn Harrold Hypnotherapy CDs over Paul Mckenna for weight loss.
I downloaded Glenn Harrold the night before my shoob outing and definitely noticed a reduction in my apatite in the day time. So, it occurred to me as I was drinking my first cocktail – I may not have eaten enough to line my stomach for a night on the Champers.

Crispy turned up to play catch up, and we moved on to our second drink, which, without beating around the bush – tipped me over into the realms of pissed relatively early on in the drinking session.

By the third drink, I was slurring my words and hatching plans with Milnoids to become either a dominatrix madam or own a “special” sauna as both had win win business models. I managed to get to the loo once on my own, but the second time I needed a helping hand in my stilts o get half way there.

By the end of the night, I was clinging to Crispy trying to negotiate the stairs down to the street. I was put in a taxi, where I asked the driver to stop at a cash point on the way home. I managed to stumble out of said taxi in the stilts, attracting more than one comment from surrounding piss heads. It’s a sorry state of affairs when your footwear make you move in ways that even winos are offering you kind words of wisdom.

Once in the sanctuary of my own home, I saw my dinner again and fell asleep with my headphones in listening to Glenn telling me to “relax”. I woke up in the middle of the night a bit dazed and confused, hearing voices I sat upright in my bed. I couldn’t work out where they were coming from and started to worry that there were people singing in my garden. As I started to get out of bed, my I-pod fell on the floor and I realised I was, as usual – an idiot. A drunken, immobile idiot with fantastic shoes.