A friend of mine, T, is getting married in September. She has been engaged three times but at the age of 40 she is getting married for the first time. Her secretary, who is devoted to her, has organised a hens’ night. I have never been to one of these. On the eve of my own wedding, ganching and I went to the Ivy in London for a grown up girls dinner. She gave me a marriage guide from the 1930s which advised me to train my stomach muscles by wearing a girdle from an early age and other useful pieces of advice. Pity I didn’t pay enough attention. When my friend, Dr I, got married we did go for a good dinner at the Atlantic but I recall the evening ended shortly after midnight. This is a more raunchy affair and involves learning to pole dance somewhere in the Cross.
Since T has been a good friend to me it would seem churlish to refuse on grounds of dignity so I have accepted. T came round on Sunday afternoon to deliver the wedding invitation. It was in a bottle filled with sand and shells and reflects the beach side wedding they have planned and quite beautiful. After she left, the conversation turned to weddings again and I told the girls I was going to her hens’ night. There followed some discussion on what was involved in these and what pole dancing was. As avid viewers of pseudo sexy music videos and the like they were familiar with the concept. I was, however, a little taken aback when youngest daughter came home yesterday to say that the boys in her class were really impressed that I was going to learn to pole dance.
pole dancing ... a skill for life
Posted by: michelle | Thursday, 11 August 2005 at 09:27 PM