Going Out Out

I’m sitting in the study at home (a rather grand title for the junk room, but it sounds sophisticated), at the old desktop computer, trying to think of where to start. We have been at a rugby match all day – watching our younger children play their first competitive game of the season.

They lost the game today quite heavily, against a more experienced older team. Unfortunately in girls rugby the age groups are split into “Under 13”, “Under 15”, and “Under 18” – meaning you quite often find a team of girls that have been playing full contact for two years up against a team of younger girls that have only just begun learning – and that’s what happened today.

I’m still not entirely sure how we made it to the match in on piece though – because we went out last night. Out out.

We haven’t been for a proper night out in months. It just so happened that last night the rugby club threw their annual ball – and we bought tickets, along with some good friends who have a daughter in the under-18s. The food was passable, the drink was extortionate, but the band was fantastic, and the company was brilliant.

It was a formal evening, so everybody was wearing suits and dresses. I thought about putting a bow tie on, and kind of wished I had – many of the other guests had. I can’t remember the last time I wore a bow tie.

While sitting at the table, looking around at the friends and acquaintance surrounding me, I realised how lucky I am to know so many great people – and that I should make more effort to get out more. I think perhaps when you have young children you kind of forget who you used to be – movie nights at home, and endless rounds of chores kind of take over everything. We talked to a few friends about it during the evening, and those with older children agreed that it does get better – but that they also miss the chaos and mayhem of those days when the kids are at clubs, afterschool activities, doing homework, needing clothes, and needing to be ferried here, there, and everywhere – because suddenly they will not be there any more, and they will not need you.

We got home in the early hours, and collapsed into bed – waking up this morning with croaky voices after shouting conversations on the dancefloor all night. I’m still not entirely sure how I’m not hung-over – I drank at least three pints of cider, and perhaps two thirds of a bottle of wine during the evening.

Of course now we are home from rugby, the real world has marched up and kicked us in the backside. The washing machine is running, the tumble dryer is running, the kids are taking turns to have baths, and homework has mysteriously appeared that was previously either non-existent, or “done”. Har har.

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