Polo, Gold Cup, and 80's Party

At the 80's party with the girls

I can't believe I managed to stay out until 4 AM, as it was a long day...

In the morning, I had to get up reasonably early to go out to play polo.  I'd agreed to play as long as we played early, so before 11 AM I found myself standing out on a street corner in the freezing cold waiting for the Blonde Dutchman to pick us all up and give us a ride up.

When I got to the designated meeting spot, Sophie was already there, although looking quite worse for wear.  Apparently she had been out at some leaving drinks for work the night before, had gotten quite drunk, left her purse (with her keys in it) in a cab, then was unable to rouse her flatmates to let her in, and then spent the night on the sofa at her finance director's house.  Quite a mess.

She told me that the worst part about it was that she had a crush on her finance director, but she'd only ever spoken to him about business matters.  Apparently at this social party, they'd been chatting in the kitchen, and she suddenly realised that he spoke like a total working-class cockney, or as she put it, "He was just so not a PLU!"

This was hilarious to me, as I'd never actually heard anyone use that term in conversation, so casually like that, and of course implying that I was indeed a PLU (People Like Us).  I'm not sure how I feel about it, as it's just this incredible British class snobbery, where people can't break into the upper ranks because they're not PLU.  And I know it's ridiculous to try to deny that I'm not upper-class (dear God, I was on my way to go play polo, for cripes sake!), but I still get a bit uncomfortable when I get so distinctly labelled into it.  I might be upper-class, but I hope I'm not quite as snobbish about it.

Once we were totally frozen (it was actually snowing as we were standing there), the Blonde Dutchman showed up, and we went off to polo.  I actually purposefully sat in the back seat, in the hopes of being ever so slightly safer should we get into an accident, as I hate how the Blonde Dutchman drives.  Way too fast, and he doesn't even wear his seatbelt.  I swear the guy has a death-wish, just the way he lives his whole life, and even when we've talked he figures that he's going to die in some sort of crazy accident someday, that he won't die of old age.  Yet as Sophie wasn't much up for talking, it meant that I was the one keeping up the conversation with the Blonde Dutchman for the entire journey, from the back seat to the front, which is always weird and awkward.  And distracts him more from the road as well, which isn't the best either!

We got to polo and got to playing.  My first pony was a dream, a paint who turned on a dime.  Realising later that since there are no dimes in the UK, I asked about the idiom, and learned that in the UK people say "turns on a sixpence."  Kind of amazing that after six years here, I still learn new things about the culture every day...

Since we had only five of us, we played 3-on-2, taking turns with who would be on the team of two.  I found it much preferable to play against Sophie than with her, as when she was on my team for the first chukka, I found myself absolutely cursing her out when she was slow to move out of the play, couldn't hit the ball, and was just generally more rubbish than usual.  I suppose I shouldn't get quite so competitive, but it was hugely frustrating how just awful she was at playing.  And the worst bit is, that because she's a girl, she either laughs it off or doesn't quite take it seriously, making me shout at one point, "I'm not kidding!  MOVE YOUR F*CKING ASS!"  Ugh.  It's one of the reasons I much prefer playing with guys...

At least then it was much better playing against her, as I could just either ignore her or remove her from the field of play.  I had a really great time playing on the same team as the Blonde Dutchman, just the two of us, taking on the other three.  I actually felt like I got a much better workout from that chukka, and we actually held our own quite well, with me even scoring a few goals.  I love that when you can just break away from the crowds, race down the pitch, and deliver the ball straight into goal.  Nothing quite so satisfying!

We did seem to have quite a problem however with hitting balls out of the arena, hitting all of the balls out except one at one point.  We had to stop in the middle of the third chukka to go retrieve some balls, and I surprised even myself at one point by solidly whacking the ball right down the middle of the area, straight through the middle of the goal, sailing right up and over the top of the boards into the fields behind.  So I scored a goal, but lost the ball!

It had actually been snowing during the game with a fair amount of accumulation, it was such a bitterly cold day.  Except while we were playing, it was fine.  It was only after the game when Sophie suggested that we go five minutes down the road to the Royal Berkshire Polo Club to watch a pro game of arena polo that I realised quite how cold it was.  Standing outside, watching the game, every part of me went numb.  At one point I couldn't even feel my lips and my teeth felt frozen as we stood there freezing to death watching the game.  It's so funny how which side of zero degrees you're on makes such a difference, as I was just so darn cold!

It was neat to see the game though, and gratifying when the pro from our place won the game with his team.  Although the final chukka seemed to take ages, as the ref kept blowing his whistle and stopping the clock, even with two seconds left to play.  A seven-minute chukka seemed to take 20, as I was just dying there in the cold.

Yet at last the game was over, and we were free to go back to the car and drive home.  I felt bad for pushing everyone to leave, but I was so cold and I wanted to get back to London with time to change for rugby.  I got a call from Matt in the car checking on the location of the game, and then got the car to drop me off in Hammersmith so I was close to home.  I debated just going straight to the game without showering or changing, but in the end decided I was just too cold, and although it would make me late to the game, I desperately needed a hot shower to warm up, I was just so frozen.

I got back to mine, stood under the hot shower until I was finally starting to thaw a bit, and then got changed and ready as quickly as I possibly could.  Which I had to do in the midst of pulling together an "80's costume" for the party I was due to attend that evening.  I eventually grabbed some heels, legwarmers, fishnets, and a top that I figured I could do the "off-one-shoulder" thing with, a la "Flashdance".

I arrived at the rugby about 10 minutes in to the second half, and was surprised to see that it was a very small crowd, just Matt, Sweetheart, and two others.  I didn't get much of a chance to talk and catch-up with Matt, and he left right after the game, which was a bit disappointing.  As well, Roofie's Brother wasn't there either, and it made me annoyed with myself for even worrying about him (after all, an event is fine even if I don't see him, right?) and just being irritated that I was so worried about looking out for a guy.  He told me later that he'd actually had a haircut scheduled that day for 5 PM (kick-off time for rugby), but then when he heard from his friends in the same pub that they couldn't find us (hilarious that we'd been in the same place and hadn't seen each other), he hadn't bothered to come.  Funny, as since I was late too, we were on the same page there...

Watching the rugby

After England won (hurrah!) we went back to the place of two friends, I got changed into my costume for this 80's party that evening, and after having some dinner, we headed over to this 80's party that a friend of ours was having.

Again, I was annoyed at myself for secretly watching the door every time new people arrived, as I was looking for Roofie's Brother.  Dammit, I can't let things be all about a boy!

With the fabulous 80's costumes

The party started at 8 PM, we had gotten there just before 9 PM, but Roofie's Brother and friends didn't show up until after 10:30 PM.  And when they arrived, Roofie's Brother had told me that he'd gotten a costume, but I had no idea what it meant when he showed up as this fuzzy orange creature in a red jacket yelling, "Honey!"  Apparently he was the Honey Monster.  Which is something in the UK, but I'd never heard of it before in my life.  So it was weird, because I just had no idea how to react while everyone else was yelling, "OMG, that is so cool!"  All I could think was, "I have no idea what this is!"

Our party hostess and Sister Fister

Anyway, I was glad he was finally there, and hoped we might be able to chat a bit.  Yet, parties being what they are, we never really got much of a chance.  It particularly didn't help that with him was one of his best female friends, Sister Fister.  And she's a lovely girl, a bundle of energy, adorable and sweet, if a bit manic.  And she even warned me at the start of the evening, "When I get drunk, I start moaning about my life."  Apparently this was indeed the case, as far too often throughout the evening, I would see her off with Roofie's Brother in a corner.  Which of course I didn't want to interrupt, but it killed me, how then I never really got a chance to talk with him as a result.

Singing along to awesome 80's songs

Isn't it funny, how the very things you like about people (he's a good and loyal friend) make things difficult for you?  Plus, I know he's a bit shy, and he's just very comfortable with Sister Fister, and so at a busy party where he's otherwise stuck making awkward conversation with people, she's just easy to chat and laugh with.  I can't complain, as if I were at the same party with the Young Dutchman, I would have found it hard to leave the Young Dutchman to actually go talk to other people, even Roofie's Brother, who I obviously like.  So I get it, but still doesn't mean I don't wish it were otherwise!

Dancing to awesome 80's songs

So in the end, after hoping to get to see him all week, I barely got to talk to him at all.  I guess at some point we just need to manage to get some time with just the two of us, as that's the only way it's ever going to work.  I've long said that social events are the worst places to catch up with me, as I just know too many people, and the same often seems true for him.

Breaking out the Twister

Finally, at 3:30 AM, I realised that it was just getting late, the day was catching up with me, and it was time to go home.  Sweetheart had already left, offering to share a cab, but he'd already booked it then and I wasn't quite ready to leave.  Maybe it was a bit of pique, but if he'd booked a cab without asking me first, just assuming I would leave with him, I almost just wanted to make a point of not going with him.  Plus, he'd been a bit overly flirtatious all evening, and although I enjoy the banter with Sweetheart, I just didn't really want to have to deal with him quite so up-close and personal.  Sometimes you've got to keep the overly-excited puppy from jumping up on you, you know?

So I booked a cab for myself and one other girl who lives near me, and we made our few rounds to say good-bye.  At least with Roofie's Brother, that's always the reassuring part of the evening, where he leans in and gives me a solid kiss on the lips.  I'm getting to the point where I want more, but it's nice that he always goes there, at least at that one point in the evening.  Even if I wish we would have more time for just the two of us, I'll take the little bits of affection he gives me.  Let's just hope it goes somewhere.  Eventually.  Before too long...