Day after Wimbledon

I had been woken up briefly by the Tall South African returning at 5 AM, although luckily I was able to quickly turn over and go back to sleep, thanking my lucky stars that I'd taken the time to set up the air mattress for him before I went to bed myself, as it meant he was off in his corner.  Definitely would not have wanted a drunk boy crawling into bed with me at that point!

Later, around 10 AM, I got up and made breakfast for the two of us, sausage and eggs.  And because I'm a wonderfully kind person, I boiled water and made him a cup of coffee, which when I brought to him in bed, he just kept exclaiming, "You are a legend!"  Indeed, he is lucky I am so kind to him...

He moaned to me for a while, wondering why on earth he hadn't come home with me the night before.  I just pointed out that he's young and stupid while I'm old and wise, and also that he'd been drunk and kind of wanted to sleep with someone, but had really misdirected his energies.

Once we were feeling somewhat human again, it was such a lovely sunny day that we grabbed a picnic blanket, went to Holland Park, and just found a nice spot in the sunshine to lie down, take a nap, and enjoy the weather for a bit.

In truth, I could have happily stayed like that all afternoon, just lying there with him, occasionally talking about relationships and things, but mostly just half-dozing in the sunshine.  It was just such a lovely day, and I realise that these are the times I enjoy best with him, where we just sit in the pleasurable companionship of each other's company.

Alas, I had previously agreed to have a Skype chat with my friend Nikola in Sydney, so we had to return home so I could make my date, and the Tall South African decided to return home to get some proper sleep and try to recover his Sunday.

It was a good catch-up call with the Australian however, and reminded me of how much I miss those great friends.  We finished our chat by agreeing that we need to have these calls regularly, at least once a month, and finally when it was 12:30 AM in Sydney, we at last hung up.

Overall, a very slow and relaxing Sunday, but sometimes those are the best ones!

Wimbledon

The alarm seemed to go off far too quickly in the morning, and the sleeping boy beside me groaned.  It was only 5:30 AM, and so we'd gotten little more than 2-3 hours of sleep.

I dragged myself up and got dressed, although without showering, as there was no way I could manage that.  With the weather forecast for the day being warm, I debated what to wear, before finally settling on shorts, a cardigan, and a fleece jacket.  Once I was pretty much ready to go, I poked the sleeping boy in my bed until he stirred, and he too was soon dressed and we were on our way.

He was desperate for coffee, so at the train station he stopped at a kiosk to buy one, and surprised me by buying me a Diet Coke as well, my own personal version of coffee.  It was just such a sweet gesture, and very thoughtful.

We made our way to Southfields, walked to the gates of Wimbledon Park, and once there were informed by the staff outside the gates that the queue had already reached the maximum capacity of the grounds, we were unlikely to get in now before 5 PM.  We were invited to queue up anyway and try our luck, so we went in and joined the queue, standing in a large field with thousands of other people.

The Wimbledon queue is the stuff of legends, and I have to say that they've obviously figured out by now how to do it right.  Shortly after we arrived, staff came around handing out queue cards, giving us a precisely numbered card that showed us our exact position in the queue.  This prevented people from saving spots for their friends (only one card per person), and ensured that you didn't have to worry about people attempting to cut in line in the queue.

My queue card

Upon realising that we were 8,400th in line we did debate whether it was worth it to stay.  The Tall South African had originally been planning on meeting some friends of his from his university tennis club, but when we called we discovered that they were not yet out of bed, and so it was far too late for them to make it to join the queue at this point.

We eventually decided to stay and try our luck for at least a little while, until we could get a sense of how it was likely to go.  After a bit of sitting on the ground, the Tall South African decided to go in search of a coffee, and surprised me again with the sweet gesture of bringing me a bacon nutty when he returned.  As we hadn't had breakfast before we left in the morning, I was starving and grateful for the lovely thought.

The massive queue

The thing about queueing at 7am is that I was quickly discovering my decision to wear shorts had been the wrong one, at least at this hour of the morning.  Too quickly, I was freezing and shivering in the early morning air.  I tried to tough it out for as long as I could, but at around 8:30 AM when I realised we would be staying for a while (the grounds didn't even open until 10:30 AM), I declared that I would like one of the picnic blankets that the local newspaper hawkers were selling for a small fee.  Before I could even reach into my handbag to give him some money, the Tall South African disappeared and shortly thereafter came back with a blanket to keep me warm.  He really just was being so good to me.

We sat in our spot in the queue, moving once when the Wimbledon stewards lined us up along perfectly straight lines, and even though the queue got slightly messed up at that point, the stewards quickly sorted it out again with the help of the queue cards.  They really took no chances that the line would ever get out of order!

Yet, as we sat on the cold ground, me even wrapped up in my blanket, I was still cold, and quite tired after having gotten up so early.  I know the Tall South African loved Wimbledon and was excited for it, but I was starting to question the sanity of freezing our tails off lying in a field in the early hours of the morning.  And so as he lay down to take a bit of a nap, I realised that the best blanket was sitting right next to me.  So I curled up around him, put the blanket over both of us, and rested my head upon his chest.  It rather did make me glad that although we have a pretty clear platonic line of friendship between us, we also don't shy away from close physical contact like that.  And so with his heartbeat sounding steadily in my ear as I rested my head on his chest, warm at last, I finally fell asleep.

I don't know how long I was out, but it was finally a bit warmer and later in the day when I woke up again.  The Wimbledon staff came around handing out stickers that said, "I queued in the sun" (there are apparently also "rain" versions, which they give out depending on the weather), and finally it seemed time to move.

Our stickers!

Moving the queue still took ages however, and despite that the gates opened at 10:30 AM, it was noon before our section of the queue was moved.  When we got to the front of the line, they checked our queue cards once again, and people who had moved up too much were told to hang back, as the officials continued to strictly enforce the sanctity of the queue.

We meandered through the entrance area, and got almost to the security checks when suddenly the line stopped moving.  After a bit of standing around wondering what was going on, the stewards came through and informed us all that the grounds were now at capacity with 8,000 people admitted.  They were now going to go through and see what space they had to admit any more people, which would probably be another 200-300 at most.  He said the next time the queue moved, if we weren't through security when it stopped again, that's now where we would be until 5 PM.  Probably not what we wanted to hear, but he still (rightly so) said he was sure it was better to tell us honestly what was going on.

Given that we were 8,400th in line, this was not looking good.  It was so borderline as to be nerve-wracking, and we started making alternate plans as to what we would do with the day if we were not admitted to the park.  And then slowly, the line began to move again, as they made everyone line up in single file, and slooooooowly counted us through one-by-one.  As we inched towards the pass-through point, we began to agonise about how heart-breaking it would be if they cut off the line right before we got through.

And then, a miracle happened:  First me, and then the Tall South African, we were counted on through the line.  We were in!!!!

As we passed through, I found I was absolutely shaking, I had been so nervous about whether or not we would make it.  We were just giddy with excitement, unable to believe our luck.  And then even more so when we looked behind us and realised that they had let in only about another 8-10 people after us, and had then cut off the line.  So close, so lucky, and so thankfully on the right side of the line!

We got in!  Me at Murray Mound

I almost couldn't fully believe it until we handed over our £20 note and got our grounds pass, it seemed so unreal.  But once we were inside, the reality finally hit:  We were at Wimbledon!!

Of course, we hadn't eaten anything since our bacon butty sandwiches that morning, so the first thing we did was buy two hamburgers and two beers.  We polished those off in short order, and then went wandering around to check out the tennis.

The way the place was set up, there were tennis courts everywhere, and you could just wander from game to game, perching along the sidelines and watching the action.  We watched a bit at Court 18, where the longest match ever was once played, and kept popping in here and there to watch bits and pieces of various games.

The plaque at No. 18 Court

We then went and got some strawberries and cream at the old clubhouse, just because that is such a Wimbledon tradition.  How could one miss out on such a standard bit of Wimbledon lore?

Strawberries and cream

I got a brilliant surprise when after days of missed calls, I felt my phone buzz and saw a familiar name pop up on my phone.  Joel!  I must have completely ruined the serve of the girl at the game I was watching, as I exclaimed with such delight to see that familiar name on my phone.  Realising the dirty looks I was getting, I ducked out of the way to chat to him for a bit, enjoying our little catch-up call.  Of course the one time that I didn't really have time to talk, Joel was up for a full-on, proper chat, and so before long I found the Tall South African taking my hand and leading me through crowds.  It was very sweet, as I just blithely followed along as he pulled me through the crowds, holding the phone in my other hand and chatting to Joel.  Very funny, as Joel has been in a bit of a sentimental mood lately, and calling me much more than usual.  At last it seems he misses me as much as I do him.

As I was still on the phone, the Tall South African put me in a corner and firmly planted his hands on my shoulders to indicate that I was to stay put.  I then got a good laugh when I finally hung up with Joel and he returned with two beers in his hands.  What a brilliant boy!

I apologised for taking the call but explained that I'd been missing calls from Joel for ages, to which the Tall South African assured me that he always took my calls, even when he shouldn't, sometimes having even done so when he was "getting busy" with another girl.  That made me laugh, even as I protested that he really should learn to ignore the phone sometimes.  He replied, "But it's you.  You're more important than any other girl, and I want to talk to you more than any other girl."

After a while of watching tennis and seeing the famous players walk in our midst (there would be military personnel barking, "Player coming through!" and then the crowd would part as we saw somebody like Laura Robson walk on by), we decided to retire to Henman Hill (or Murray Mound as it is most frequently called these days) to sit on the grass, lie in the sun, drink beer and watch the main games on the big screen.

The sunshine on Henman Hill

We did chat a bit about a topic that had come up earlier that morning, the question of why we don't date each other.  I can tell he's thinking a lot about it lately, because of all other girls, I'm the one he most wants to spend time with.  But I'm also the one who sees through him most readily, and who knows him inside and out, who he can't get away with things with.  And in truth, although I won't tell him so, I seriously doubt whether he could retain my interest long-term.  Sometimes he tires me, as I don't have quite the intellectual conversations with him that I do with others.

And yet, particularly after the Young Dutchman's rubbish behaviour of the past week, and seeing how wonderfully sweet and solicitous he was being, I realised I don't give him nearly enough credit for how good he is to me.  He would make a good date to many things, and I should take him out with me more.

After sitting on the hill for hours, we were quite tipsy and getting a bit burnt in the sunshine (I'd quite forgotten to bring any sun creme), and so we decided to go for a walk around No. 1 Court.  As we were walking near one of the entrance ways, the Tall South African spotted two elderly women walking away, and told me to go up to them to ask if they were leaving, and if so, if we could have their tickets. I was shocked that you could just do that, but he assured me it would be okay, and insisted they would be much more likely to give their tickets to me, a girl.  He just seems to be good at reading people like that.

The tickets

Indeed, he was absolutely right, and I was floored when the women handed me both of their tickets with a pat on the hand and implored me to go enjoy the game.  So back we went up into the stands, enjoying a brilliant game completely for free with what were originally £65 tickets.  The game itself, an epic contest between David Ferra and Alexandr Dolgopolov that went on for five sets, with the advantage going back and forth frequently for many games.

Inside No. 1 Court

It went on for so long, that we were supposed to watch Serena Williams play afterwards, but they moved that game to Centre Court, where we were unable to get tickets at that last minute.  So we returned to Murray Mound for more beers, where the Tall South African decided to chat up some young American college students who were in London for the summer.

I didn't really mind, even as I realised it was a stupid idea, because he'd already told me earlier about how he was getting drunk and quite turned on around me, I think almost floating the idea as to whether I'd be accommodating (without actually saying so), but I gently made it quite clear that I wasn't game for that.  Perhaps fun in the short term, but a terrible idea in the long term.  Hence, he had a lot of misdirected energy, and now it was being spent on air-headed American girls.

I wouldn't have minded just using them for temporary entertainment, but for some reason he decided to take them with us to go get dinner, abandoning our original plan of a great burger joint we know for a kitsch American restaurant in Leicester Square.  At this point I was tired and starving, and just wanted to get some food into me before going home to bed.  The Tall South African was quite tipsy, and obviously was losing the plot of what he was trying to accomplish here.

Finally, when it was nearly midnight, I gave him enough money to cover my portion of the bill, whispered in his ear that he had keys and could come home whenever, and I would see him at home later.  He didn't make it home until 5 AM in the end, although in quite a state and saying, "Why on earth didn't I come home with you?  That would have been such the better decision!"  Ah, but it was all quite the fun day out, but I was tired and ready for bed.  So by 1 AM I was home in my own flat, and glad to finally get some sleep!

My Birthday

Happy and laughing on my birthday

Today was my birthday!  I was definitely feeling the love today, as I barely got any work done, I was so busy fielding calls from people.  My morning began with a call from the Tall South African, my parents called, and I just kept struggling to get work done whilst I fielded more e-mails and well-wishes from people around the globe.  I even heard from a guy I'd been involved with back in Boston, Trail Guy, who had remembered my birthday even without the aid of Facebook.  I swear, there is nothing quite like your birthday to make you feel loved.

The best part of the day of course, was my planned celebration in the evening.  It just happened that my birthday was falling on the June "Younger Member's Last Wednesday of the Month" drinks at the club, and the weather had cleared into beautiful sunshine so we could have drinks out on the terrace.

I'd decided to wear ridiculous peep-toe heels that are impossible to walk in on the Tube, so I ran into a girlfriend in the Ladies Powder Room whilst I changed my shoes, and then we headed up into the sunshine for drinks.

Many people knew it was my birthday and so bought me glasses of champagne, but the best was undoubtedly the Wild Welshman, who I had not managed to catch up with in ages.  Yet, he took great pains to really spend some time chatting with me and catching up on all that was new, and we talked quite a bit about his recent house purchase in Crystal Palace (an area in the north of London).  It was really good to talk to him, and I was reminded of how much we get along on a most fundamental level. He does make me smile so much.

But not nearly as much as Joel, who was the last of all my friends to arrive, but unquestionably gave me the biggest thrill.  I'd panicked when I saw his work number pop up on my phone earlier in the day, fearing that he was calling to cancel, but he was just calling to confirm the details of our dinner plans for the evening.

I had fun talking to many other people up on the terrace, and got quite the surprise when the boys turned out to have bought me flowers for my birthday, although they claimed it was as much a thank-you for organising everything with the Magdalene and Balliol balls this past week as anything else.  Yet before it was too late, I rounded up the troops and got us all down to dinner.  Except once we were there, I realised we'd somehow lost my friend Jess in the transit, and so I had to run back up to the terrace to go find her!

Fuzzy group shot, with Joel not looking at the camera, on purpose of course

The dinner was good fun, where I mostly chatted to Joel, I was so happy to see him.  Although every time he left the table (he really does have the world's smallest bladder) everyone turned to pounce on me asking, "Who is this awesome guy, where have you been hiding him, and why aren't you dating him?"

I was thrilled that they seemed to like Joel as much as I do, but of course the question of why I'm not dating any one of my many male friends is always an awkward one.  In this case of course it is because Joel has gotten involved with yet another girl within hours of breaking up with the last one.  And apparently just like the previous ones, she is insisting on meeting me, nervous and curious like all the others about this girl who Joel must talk about constantly, who is a huge presence in his life.  I teased him about why she even knew I was a girl, but he surprised me by telling me that he has a picture of me in his phone that pops up every time he calls me.  Two days later he even called me and left me a voicemail message saying he'd called just to see much picture as much as anything else.  It's little wonder this deep attachment to another girl has many girls nervous.

Yet for as much as Joel loves me more than any other girl, he's never given me any indication that he's interested in me *that* way, and so we continue on, still near and dear to each other after a decade.  And I continue to be single.

After dinner, we retired to the bar where Joel bought me a whiskey, knowing me well like he does.  We had a few drinks and lingered past midnight, when I could tell that my friend Jess was getting extremely nervous about how late it was getting and making the last Tube.  So although I could have happily stayed for much longer, I bid everyone goodnight, and then struggled to extract myself when I ran into a group of guys I know in the bar from the club committee.  One of them turned out to be a guy I've e-mailed with a lot but never met in person, and upon seeing me in the flesh for the first time, was extremely taken with me.  He kept trying to persuade me to stay, being so keenly interested that the girls started teasing me about it mercilessly as soon as we left the bar.  Indeed, the next morning I woke up to an e-mail from the chap asking me out to dinner!  {Sigh!}  It was comical however, as the man really was infatuated!

Yet with time running late, we ran for the Tube, although easily making the last train despite my friend's worries.  And I got home to find a slightly drunken, rambling e-mail from Joel saying at the end, "You're extremely important to me and I think it's wonderful we've been chums for a decade! (Thnnx 2 u)"

It was just a wonderful day full of love from friends, especially from those I love most.  I am a lucky girl to be so loved and adored by so many, and it was a great day to be reminded of it.  

Recovery Day

I slept until I could sleep no more this morning, and it was glorious.  How wonderful it felt to finally be rested!

I spent most of the day uploading photos on Facebook, figuring that if I didn't do it quickly, I would never get around to it.  Of course however, that led to lots of people commenting and then writing to me, which got me distracted, and just trying to keep up with everyone's chatter.

The trickiest one of course is Irish Boy, who I really like and want to keep going, but I always feel like I take too much time to respond to him.  He's cute, funny, charming, enthusiastic, and seems to take every opportunity to tell me how gorgeous I am.  We've been corresponding back and forth ever since last Monday, except I far too often leave him as being the last one to write, even though I occasionally do engage him in conversation.  And this morning he wrote again, completely unprompted but remembering that I'd had another event yesterday.  God, how I wish he could just live here in London and I could listen to his beautiful chatter all the time...  I need to be smarter about keeping that one going to keep him interested for when he does come back however!  Because I find at the most random moments all I can think about is kissing him again.

I was surprised however to get a message at around 2 PM from the Young Dutchman entitled, "I need to apologise."

In it, he said, "I wanted to apologise for my behaviour over the last two days. I know I can be slightly distracted at the best of times, but reflecting on my behaviour over the last two days it has been pretty appalling, culminating in ditching you guys last night for dinner." 

He went on for a bit about being sick, although acknowledging it was no real excuse, and finally saying, "I just wanted to let you know as I fear I may have come across as a right dick."

The truth is, he really had not been on form, but perhaps more concerning is that I hadn't really noticed or expected any better from him, even when he was throwing a tantrum like a spoiled little boy.  So I caught him on chat and we went back and forth for a bit where I assured him that I loved him anyway, but he still seemed upset with himself.  I left him thinking that perhaps he should be, but he doesn't really need me harping on that point.  He already knows he could have behaved better, and that's enough.  He doesn't need a lecture from me.  

I suppose the dangerous thing however, is that I often can't be bothered to actually call people out on their bad behaviour, I just drop them.  I stop inviting them out, I stop making an effort, I just cut them off without explanation.  As the crowd at dinner was noticing last night, I'm actually the one of our crowd with the most influence.  When you're the one who controls everyone's social life, there's no real need to go out of your way to accommodate people's boorish behaviour.  So the Young Dutchman is perhaps right to be worried, as I never yell at people or lecture them or fight.  I just let them fade away...

We spoke on the phone briefly, and I have to admit he sounded horrific, so perhaps there had been something to his excuse that he was feeling sick.  And goodness knows we're never at our best when we're ill.  

I later got a call from the Tall South African, and although we were on the phone for an hour, I can't even really remember what we talked about.  He'd apparently had an insane night at a Last Tuesday Society party somewhere in the middle of nowhere, that had ended up with him being naked in a hot tub with three girls.  Perhaps an interesting story, which you could tell he wanted to talk about to help him process it, but also he was just feeling a bit ashamed about it too.  Again, he doesn't need a lecture from me, so why bother?

The last call of the evening surprised me most, when I picked up my phone and it was the Young Scotsman!  Now there is someone I haven't spoken to in ages...  I originally assumed he was calling about some club business matter, but as he stayed on the line and talked and talked, I realised he'd called, completely out of the blue, just to talk to me for a half hour.  It was lovely to talk to him, he invited me to a few upcoming events, and I promised I would see him soon.  Yet when I hung up my phone I almost wanted to ask myself, "Did that conversation just happen?"

The boys of my life are surprising me these days...

Royal Ascot

With the Young Dutchman

I barely think I was asleep before my alarm went off again.  According to the clock I'd had 90 minutes of rest, but I certainly didn't feel any more rested.  I just felt absolutely sick, in that way where you're not sure what is hangover and what is exhaustion.  All I knew was that I had to be nuts to even attempt this.  What had I been thinking to agree to this?

I must not have moved much while I slept, as my hair was in mostly decent shape, so I pinned a few bits back in place, threw some extra pins in my bag, and pulled on my dress.  Did my make-up as quickly as I could, and then positively staggered out and down the stairs.

On the train, feeling like death warmed over

Although my exhaustion must have been even worse than I thought, as I was well down the street before I suddenly realised that I had forgotten my Royal Enclosure badge back in my flat.  Given that I wouldn't be able to go anywhere without it, I stumbled back to my flat, grabbed the badge, and then ran to the train.

Car Park 1 picnic

Despite being sure that this delay would cause me to miss the train, fate was on my side, I made all of my train connections, and arrived at Waterloo, head still spinning, with 10 minutes to spare.  I spotted the Young Dutchman, yelled at him repeatedly to get his attention (he wasn't looking much better than I was), and then found Kellogg Boy and his girlfriend.  They gave us our tickets, we went and found seats on the train, and then just collapsed.

Picnic before the races

I drank a Diet Coke for the hour's journey, and tried to wake myself up a bit.  I was sure I could power through this, I just needed to take a few deep breaths and get some food into me...

We arrived at Ascot and met up with Hong Kong Boy and his girlfriend, ended up waiting around for ages whilst Kellogg Boy's girlfriend went to the bathroom, and then we made our way to Car Park 1 for a picnic.

Car Park 1 picnic

We joined the group that was there, and had some champagne, sandwiches and chocolates, while the boys had fun getting into cork-popping wars with each other.  Ascot is one of those occasions where there's just a ridiculous amount of champagne flowing everywhere, so there were plenty of corks to fire off.

They started ringing a bell letting us know that it was time to go in, so we started to make our way, while unfortunately the skies overhead opened up with rain.  Yet, by a stroke of luck, it cleared up just as the Queen made her way past us, so we did get a reasonable view of Her Majesty as she went by.

Making our way into the Royal Enclosure

Still, we obviously wanted to get away from the inclement weather, so we decided to go upstairs and find spots in the grandstands to watch the races.  We found seats (as one always can in the Royal Enclosure), and then just chatted for ages while watching the horses parade out and line up for the race.

In the grandstands with Kellogg Boy

After the race finished, we took a stroll around the concourse, and then went back to watch a second race.  We ran into the Lovely Dutch Girl, who had randomly come out for a few hours of the day, as she wanted some distraction given that today was originally supposed to be her wedding day.  I think she's well rid of the chap who is her ex-fiancee, so I didn't really think she should be upset about it, but I suppose that can be an emotional thing for anyone.

With the Lovely Dutch Girl

I then found myself chatting to Kellogg Boy's girlfriend a bit about how she used to be so opposed to all of these "elitist" events until she had so many friends who were involved with private clubs and fancy events like this.  Now that she has so many friends who do these things and she's realised how fun they are, she feels like a bit of a hypocrite.  I had to laugh, as the problem with privilege is that it seems like a problem until it works in your favour.

In the grandstands

We then got quite the shock, as we watched the next race, and the horse that ran across the finish line made it for another 200 yards or so, and then suddenly without warning fell down and died.  We later learned that he died of a massive and unexplained heart attack, but at the time it was all just so strange.  He'd been running confidently across the finish line, and then slowed down (like normal) before he then suddenly wobbled and was flat on the track.  I'd wondered if he'd broken his leg, but realised something was wrong after they raced over and pulled screens all around him.  A horse with a broken leg can usually still get to his feet, but we never saw that horse on his feet again, they had to winch him into the horse ambulance.  It definitely put a bit of a damper on the day, that is for sure.

In the Royal Enclosure

After this we went downstairs and then for a bit of a wander around the grounds.  We checked out the horses on parade before the races, and just had fun taking photos of each other looking all grand and dapper in our finery.

Hanging out in the Royal Enclosure

The day was getting quite chilly at this point, and so we sat in the Royal Enclosure and debated what to do next.  The Young Dutchman declared that he wanted to go back to the Car Park and drink the champagne that was there, but I said I was going to be going to the singalong, my favourite part of the day's festivities.  The Young Dutchman is far too often used to getting his own way, because he kept insisting, and I kept refusing.  I told him that if he wanted to go to the Car Park by himself, he was welcome to, but I was going to go singing, and I would happily take along anybody else who wanted to come.

Chatting with Kellogg Boy's girlfriend while the Young Dutchman has a tantrum

Of course, the problem that the Young Dutchman has is that he always wants me to go along with what he wants to do, but in this instance there was not a chance of that happening.  That boy needs to be schooled every now and then.  So when the last race ended, I set off for the Bandstand, accompanied by the other girls and Hong Kong Boy.  I know the Young Dutchman was annoyed that he wasn't getting his way, but I just left him to have his little tantrum by himself.
The singalong however, was just as much fun as I'd hoped it would be.  When we arrived, they passed out songbooks and Union Jack flags, so we could all wave our flags and sing all of the words to the songs.  The first songs I didn't know so well, like "Maybe It's Because I'm a Londoner", but by the time they broke out with "New York, New York", I was singing at the top of my lungs.  And then of course, when we got to "Rule Britannia" and "Jerusalem", I think everyone was singing their hearts out.  And when it came to the National Anthem at the end, everyone was waving their flags proudly as we sang "God Save The Queen."

With Kellogg Boy's girlfriend

As we walked back, Kellogg Boy's girlfriend declared that it was the best part of the whole day, and everyone agreed it had been incredible fun.  I knew everyone would love it, hence why there was no chance of me skipping it!

At the singalong with Kellogg Boy's girlfriend

We then walked back to join the others in Car Park 1, finished up the picnic and drank some more champagne, and then walked back to the train station.  As we walked to the train, I was surprised when we ran into The American, who was apparently searching for his car and some other people.  We exchanged kisses (so hard to do whilst wearing a hat!) and chatted for a few moments, before finally realising we both had places to be, and bidding each other adieu.

Post races Car Park 1 picnic

When we got to the train station, the platform was packed, through a stroke of good luck, we managed to find three seats, which meant that all the girls got to sit.  Thank goodness, as I was absolutely dying at this point.

We still had one more bottle of champagne, so we split it between the group, taking swigs out of it (classy folks that we are!) because we didn't have any cups.  We spent the journey trying to make a plan for dinner, although we had problems trying to keep the Young Dutchman's attention because he kept chatting on the phone with some girl.  We called around to our various clubs without success, and eventually decided to all get off in Vauxhall and go to Kellogg Boy's flat while we figured out what to do next.

Goofing around with Kellogg Boy

The Young Dutchman wanted us to go to some bar in Mayfair called Mr Frogs, but since the whole plan was that we wanted to get a real dinner, none of us were in favour of that plan.  We of course realised as the Young Dutchman continued to be on the phone, that part of the reason he wanted to go to this place (despite there being no food) was that he could invite some girls along to join us.

We continued to formulate our own plans, eventually deciding to go to Whits, a restaurant that we all love, while the Young Dutchman continued to call other girls, play guitar, and just generally be distracted.  It was seriously like trying to keep the attention of a goldfish.

Our good-looking group

As we all sat there, the conversation turned, as it frequently seems to these days, to the topic of how I should hook up with Canadian Balliol Guy.  I have to admit, I'm amused by how much the entire group all seem to have decided on this idea, and rather wonder if they've ever discussed the same with Canadian Balliol Guy himself.  Perhaps they have and this is always why he's a bit funny around me?

On the one hand, I understand why they think we'd be so perfect for each other, as Canadian Balliol Guy and I are very well-suited. He's a fellow North American (my father would love that), we're of a similar age, he's smart, handsome, and of course also went to Balliol.  It would so easily round out our little group, if the two of us were together.

And yet...

I think they underestimate how much I can't stand the smoking.  I was so happy when he quit, and so heartbroken when he started again.  Normally men have this smell, a mixture of musk and cologne and just natural manliness, that when you meet a guy you're attracted to, is just absolutely heady and intoxicating.  Yet, when I'm around Canadian Balliol Guy, the stench of cigarettes just overpowers that and I find it difficult to be drawn to him or imagine wanting to be so close to that smell.  It's like the smell just comes out of his pores and makes me wrinkle my nose.

Oh yeah, and he can't seem to decide what he wants and he lives in Canada.  Definite strikes against him!

Taking the Tube in top hats and tails

We decided to take the Tube to get to the restaurant, and after enough herding cats we managed to get onto the train.  Of course we were still in our morning suits and hats, which got us quite a bit of attention on the train, including a few tourists asking if they could take photos of us.  We happily obliged, as it's not every day you get to take the Tube whilst wearing top hats!

I did find myself having a very insightful conversation with Kellogg Boy's girlfriend as we walked together changing trains, where she noted, "The boys all love you dearly and want you to be happy, but...they also kind of enjoy having you to themselves."

She's right.  All of these boys, even the ones in relationships, enjoy that I'm always there to talk to them, to arrange things for them, to be the witty and charming and entertaining girl that I am, the single girl who is somehow everybody's girlfriend.  I've always wondered how the Young Dutchman would handle it if I were to get into a relationship, mostly because I think he would be so upset at being displaced at being the most important man in my life (although of course he would show me no such consideration if the situation were reversed).  The boys really would struggle to lose me to another boy.

When we got to Earls Court, Kellogg Boy's girlfriend had been insisting that we needed a buddy system not to lose the Young Dutchman, but shortly after we exited the station, he was on the phone to someone, and then he quickly disappeared.  Who knows what happened to him?  We all assumed that it was some girl, and so on we went to the restaurant.

At dinner at Whits

When we got to Whits, we enjoyed an amazing meal, with the proprietor being amazingly friendly to us, and just reminding us all why we love this restaurant so much.  We had fun telling stories, including the stories of how we all met, which generally involved the Young Dutchman abandoning us at some point and leaving us to talk and get to know each other.

At one point, we were debating why he had abandoned us when he so enjoys all of our company, and concluding it was because he hadn't gotten laid in a very long time.  And then, as I am the only girl in our group who is single, they jokingly said to me, "C'mon, you've got to take care of him and take one for the team!"

The whole crowd at dinner, tired and happy after a long day

Oh God.  I know a lot of people, seeing how close we are, assume that there is something romantic between us, but truly nothing could be further from the truth.  Everyone always imagines that there must be some deep-seated romantic tension that will some day break free when we can no longer deny our passion for each other, but I truly just cannot imagine it.  I love the Young Dutchman in a way that I love few people, in a way that causes me to forgive him all of his sins and generally oblige him on anything he asks for.  But it is the way that you love a brother who you acknowledge will drive you crazy and you have to love him anyway.  The way you love somebody who is an essential part of your life, who you just can't quite picture life without.  But seeing him naked?  No way.  Not a chance.  No how.  Eeeeeeewwww!

So I quickly pointed out that I thought that Kellogg Boy had gotten more physical with the Young Dutchman than I ever had, and it quickly turned the conversation onto funny quasi-gay Young Dutchman stories.

It was fun too as we talked about the influence I have over the crowd and over people, wielding so much that people don't even quite realise how I'm the leader of everything.  It made me chuckle as I thought, "You're only realising this now?"

Toasting "absent friends"!

We had fun taking tons of pictures of our food, and then raising our glasses of whiskey to the empty chair that was our absent friend.  We were just laughing so hard at this point I was practically wiping tears from my eyes, definitely the sign of a good night with good friends!

Suddenly however, as we finished our dessert, I was practically ready to lay my head down on the table and take a nap.  So we settled the bill and outside the crowds hailed a cab for me, even though my flat was only about a 10-minute walk from the restaurant.  I've never needed sleep quite so badly as I did then, and so home quickly and off to bed I went!

Magdalene May Ball

At the Magdalene May Ball

The big day was finally here!  After obsessively checking the weather forecast for weeks, the day had blessedly dawned sunny and dare I say it, hot?  The one thing I'd so dearly hoped for had come to pass...

I slept in a little bit, but still tried to start on doing my hair early on.  Despite this, I left my flat an hour later than I'd originally intended, once again proving that girls really do take forever to get ready...

I was worried that I might miss my train, but I made it to the station perfectly in time, with 10 minutes to spare.  I got a seat on the train, and then when I looked at the couple sitting across from me, realised that the girl looked incredibly familiar.  I asked her, "Did I meet you at {German-American Guy}'s birthday party a few weeks ago?"  Indeed, it was the same girl!

She invited me to come sit with them for the journey, and they shared their champagne with me for the course of the journey.  Definitely a good way to get the ball off to an excellent start!

We decided to split a cab into town once we got to Cambridge (given that we'd spend that much collectively on bus far), and then I went to pick up the tickets at College.  I managed to get them without too much incident, and then I made my way to the pub to check-in and change.  Despite my fears that the pub would have lost my reservation, everything went smoothly, I got to the room, and was able to change and dump my things, as well as perfectly zip myself into my dress without incident.  (I'd weighed in lighter than I ever had before that morning, things were really going my way this day!)

I got myself completely ready, and then found myself sitting around waiting for the boys for an hour, as they were running late.  (Not like I was in the least bit surprised!)  Still, it was annoying to just be sitting in a hotel room by myself for an hour, unable to leave or run errands as I had to be there when they got there.  

At last there was a knock on the door, and I opened it to find to my delight that there was Canadian Balliol Guy!  I hadn't seen him since Christmas, and it was truly wonderful to see him again.  He'd started shaving again since he had moved back to Canada, which I had known, but it was still a bit of a shock to see him without his familiar beard.  I also noted with sadness when he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, "Oh no, you're doing that again??"  I'd been so happy when he quit last year...  He hemmed and hawed about how this was a temporary thing, and he promised to quit again when he got home, but it still made me so disappointed.

I then left him to change and went down to the pub courtyard to await the other two.  They finally arrived, and I led them upstairs to change, and the room turned into a hive of activity as all of the boys got themselves in order.  Canadian Balliol Guy turned out to be having quite a bit of trouble with his white bow-tie and asked me for help, leaving me to fumble with it for quite a bit until I figured out that I needed to lengthen it to make it work.  Although, it's strangely intimate to tie a man's bow-tie, so it's hard to say if all of my fumbling was because I was nervous being so close to Canadian Balliol Guy, or just an inability to figure out the bow-tie!  I got it in the end however, after enough jokes about how we might have to return it for being defective.  

The Boys at the Pitt Club

We were thoroughly late to meet the Millionaire and his girlfriend for drinks at the Pitt Club, which I was slightly annoyed about, but I had to admit I'd expected this.  (You might remember the Millionaire from his previous mention at this party).  Once all three were properly attired in white-tie, and I'd cut off all the loose threads from their recently internet-ordered suits, we walked across Jesus Green to the Pitt Club.  

We had some champagne and then took a tour of the club, which was a small but elegant little place.  It was funny as I toured through with the Millionaire, we were both obviously thinking but not mentioning that this is where we had met, and I had not been back since that fateful night.  Of course, with his girlfriend right there, we certainly didn't want to mention that the last time I'd been at this club, we'd gotten very drunk and gone back to his hotel room together!  

In the queue outside College

Since we had been so late, it was quickly time to leave, so we left Canadian Balliol Guy and Kellogg Boy at the club to drink whiskey and talk, and the four of us walked down to join the queue and head into dinner.  We were given the evening's programme of events, an elegant black book with a wax seal, which we perused whilst standing in the queue for our wristbands.  I saw one of the porters that I recognised, and so was happy to give him a hug and a kiss and introduce him to my friends.  One of the things I love about Magdalene, it's the college with the friendliest porters in Cambridge!  We had a little time for a glass of champagne before a man wandering the grounds with a bell indicated that it was time for us to go in for dinner.  

The programme of events

We turned out not to be on the same table despite our seating arrangement request, and I only knew one guy on our table.  The dinner was nice enough, although the staff were obviously suffering from the challenge of attempting to serve approximately 500 people at the same time.  I did at least get to hear a bit more about the Young Dutchman's recent trip to Paris, where he'd apparently gone with an old guy from the Carlton Club who likes to eat good food, and so took him along for the company.  Overall he seemed a bit off his game however, although not like I was doing much better in the scintillating conversation department.  

With my dinner date at dinner

The dinner menu however was pretty amazing:

Amuse Bouche

Pea mousse scented with truffles and Parmesan crunch

Starter

Kiln smoked salmon, beetroot panna cotta and caviar dressing

Refresher

Lemon and cardamon chilled shot

Main course

Roast duck breast, confit duck faggots, celeriac cream, sweet duchess potato and a rich duck jus

Dessert

Trio of:  apple jelly crumble, chocolate mousse cup, rhubarb and custard macaroon

Cheese

A selection of stilton, cheddar and brie served with celery, grapes and an assortment of biscuits

Coffee and Chocolate

Luxury chocolates by Elizabeth Shaw (est. 1881) & Costa Rican coffee

The best however, was the note at the bottom of the menu about the dessert wine (Bacalhoa Moscatel de Setubal), which said, "Dessert wine donated by a Trinidadian Old Boy in remembrance of snoggings past".  How brilliant is that?

My place at dinner

For some reason, this then inspired the Young Dutchman to harp on for ages about how he thinks I should sleep with Canadian Balliol Guy.  Of course, he acts like all I have to do is snap my fingers and this will happen, although to be honest I'm not quite sure of Canadian Balliol Guy's feeling for me beyond that we seem to get thrown together a lot.  As well, given the group dynamic, it's not like we could ever have anything casual, so just "sleeping together" would be impossible, we'd have to date.  And he lives in Canada.  

The thing that surprised me most however, was when the Young Dutchman kept insisting, "And he's rich!"  I'd always just thought Canadian Balliol Guy was unemployed, but apparently the real story is that he sold his internet company a while back, and given what he knew about what the company went for, he figures Canadian Balliol Guy cleared at least a cool million from the deal.  Which explains how he's able to just generally bum around, fly back and forth to the UK, and not have any real need to work.  He actually doesn't.  And it suddenly makes a lot more sense as to why he never seems to know what to do with himself.  As what do you do when you've sold your company and don't need to work anymore?  Anyway, I'm just not quite sure what to do with this information, so I try to move off the topic.  

At last, Kellog Boy and Canadian Balliol guy arrive, although for some reason they get stuck on a table talking to some old people for ages.  I still don't quite understand that one.  

We escaped the dining marquee, and then went to the tent where there were shisha pipes set up everywhere, and smoked quite a bit of shisha.  I know shisha is rather bad for you, but I have to admit I do enjoy it on the odd occasion.  

We then ran into the Millionaire and his girlfriend, we went to the shooting gallery (where we didn't have much luck) and stopped in at the riverboat casino where I kept winning at blackjack every time I went "all in" in the hopes of losing my money and getting out of there, except then of course accidentally doubling my money.  

As we walked through the enchanting gardens, we ran into the Master, the former Archbishop of Canterbury.  As the others, gasped at realising who it was, I simply smiled and said, "Would you like me to introduce you?"

With the former Archbishop of Canterbury, the Hon. Rowan Williams

So I went up and greeted the former Archbishop of Canterbury, and introduced him to the assembled group.  We chatted for a bit, and then somebody asked if we could take a picture with him, so we all gathered around and posed for a photo.  The Millionaire always has a habit of saying, "lesbians" when smiling for photos, and really just about had everyone in stitches when all he had to do was ask, "What is it that we say when smiling for photos?"  Oh God, he wouldn't dare, not right in front of the former Archbishop of Canterbury, would he?  Although he would dare a lot, for as we stood there posing for the photo, I realised he was stroking my back as we stood next to each other posing.  With the former Archbishop of Canterbury standing right there!  And his girlfriend right nearby too!  To say it was surreal is putting it mildly...

The Fellows Garden

It seemed to make a bit more sense however, when as we wandered through First Court, the Millionaire suddenly said to me, "Oh I'm so sorry, I've offered some to everybody else, and I haven't given any to you!"  And then held out a little blue pill to me.  

Now, what I did next is definitely not the sort of thing I usually condone.  If somebody told me they'd taken drugs at a party simply because somebody offered them some, particularly without knowing what the hell they were taking, I'd have said they were crazy and stupid.  But truly what went through my mind was, "Well everybody else has been on these for at least the past half-hour and they still seem okay..."  And I have to admit, I was just curious.  

I'm still not entirely sure what I took, but I basically have concluded that it was some form of Ecstasy.  It didn't have much of an effect at first (which I've heard is true of E, and problems arise when people don't think it's working and take another and then end up overdosing), although I have to admit it did eventually make me somewhat lightheaded and woozy, much the same as when I'm high on pot.  All in all, not unpleasant, although much like pot, not necessarily something I would go out of my way for.  

At least I drew the line at the next substance, when the Millionaire got out some cocaine.  Holy crap, that's some serious stuff!  I politely thanked him, and left the others to indulge, and found when I stepped outside that the Millionaire's Friend and his date had also made a hasty exit.  The Millionaire's Friend was quite upset actually, saying, "Careers have ended over things like that!"  I have to admit, it seemed like an awfully big risk for a very little bit of fun, but I guess it's true what Robin Williams said, that "Drugs are the Gods way of telling you that you have too much money."  

Looking stylish in white-tie

I later came back to see how the crowds were doing, where the Young Dutchman had a very intense conversation with me about what I should expect when I'm on drugs, which is a pretty hilarious lecture to get from somebody who is obviously on drugs himself.  (Apparently the key is that I needed to remember to drink water regularly).  The particular thing about cocaine is that it apparently makes people feel like they're on top of the world, and really inflates their egos so all they want to do is talk about themselves.  Giving that drug to perhaps the most egotistical, self-centred guy I know, one who is without any sort of self-doubt, then led to the amusing situation where it was like watching his ego on overdrive.  

I then did get to have a fun "conversation" with him at least, which was mostly him talking and me just nodding.  It was quite long-winded, but could generally be summed up as him saying, "Unlike most girls, I actually give a shit about you."  It was a very hard conversation for me to process though, as it's both acknowledging how important to each other we are, but also how there are other key figures in our lives.  It reminded me of first grade, when you had 1st, 2nd, and 3rd best friends, and as a grown-up you have to acknowledge that you may have many close friends, but with each your relationship is unique.  Although overall it's hard for me to really talk about my relationship with the Young Dutchman anyway, as it's so intense yet so familial, it's always very difficult for me to try to put it under a microscope too much.  

We then went exploring in hall where we got to watch some amazing drag queens, and then climbed the stairs to the SCR to get some port, marking the first time I've ever actually been in the SCR.  It's actually quite elegant, I shall have to hope to visit the inner sanctum again sometime.  Plus, the vintage 1997 Taylor's wasn't too bad either!

Me and my boys

We took some photos at the sign announcing the entrance to the disco, climbed "pizza mountain" (as we dubbed it, given that it was a steep hill with pizza at the top), and then made our way back to Pepys Court for more champagne and some dancing.  

Feeling the need to sit down and chill for a bit, I led everyone into the Master's Garden to the comedy tent for a comedy show, and we happened to hit a really funny comedian who made me laugh quite a bit.  I snuggled up with the Young Dutchman for a bit, which was nice, although perhaps that was the effect of the drugs we were all on.  Ecstasy is supposed to make you want to hug people, right?  

The Millionaire's Friends then decided to leave us, so we made our good-byes, and then the Young Dutchman got involved with talking to the Millionaire's girlfriend.  The Millionaire himself had disappeared to who knows where.  Both of them were still high on cocaine, so I left them, and wandered through the magical lit gardens with Kellogg Boy.  Would have been nice to do with Canadian Balliol Guy, but I'd completely lost him ages ago and had no idea where he was.  

The lit gardens were truly magical however, spectacular to wander through.  We checked out an art installation with bubbles, and then made our way out to the Riverside Bar to get drinks.  As we walked back however, it as like someone had turned on a light switch in the sky, it was so suddenly light out.  I felt like you do when somebody turns on the house lights in a nightclub at the end of a party.  

We gambled at the riverboat casino for a bit more, I kept on my annoying winning streak, and soon it was time for breakfast.  Since I was hungry, I just left my chips and went off in search of food.  

The queue took ages, but eventually I got a salmon bagel, an egg sandwich and some muffins.  The Young Dutchman appeared from somewhere and joined us for breakfast, and then we went over to the shisha tent to chill out for a bit while having some hot chocolate.  

We then decided to go check out the ceilidh dancing, where we found Canadian Balliol Guy dancing with some girl.  I insisted that my two boys at least pose for a photo with me in front of the Pepys library, proving that we were still going strong at 5:30 AM.  

Survivors Photo selfie!

The announcement then came that it was time for the Survivor's Photo, so we made our way out to the riverbank, where we sat waiting for them to get it all set up, and took a few photos of our group.  I was glad when Canadian Balliol Guy came and joined us, so we had our whole group together at the very end.  I sat there with the boys, leaning back on Canadian Balliol Guy for a bit because I was tired, although it was strangely non-intimate and not particularly encouraged, as always.  I sometimes wonder why the boys think the two of us would work out...

Finally, they took the photo (at last!) the ball committee showered champagne on everyone, and we all walked back to the hotel in the morning daylight.  

We survived!

The Young Dutchman and Kellogg Boy grabbed their stuff and headed straight for the train, while Canadian Balliol Guy and I stayed and just talked for about an hour, perhaps the first time I can remember the two of us really being alone and talking.  We talked a bit about his life in Canada, his thoughts for the future, how he'd gotten his heart broken while he was at Oxford, and just his general sense of trying to figure out what to do next.  It was interesting to really actually get to talk to him for once, a conversation I'm not sure we ever would have had if he hadn't been so drunk and tired.

Finally however he gave me a hug and left to make his way to Oxford, and I lay down for a few moments of rest before realising sleep in this noisy pub would be hopeless, and so I needed to go as well.  Wild and crazy night, but now it was time to go home to London and get some sleep.