gimmegimmegimme

Maybe I have writers block or maybe my brain has finally gone on permanent vacation (if I was it I'd be heading somewhere like Mexico, the beans are so good down there and so is the tequilla even the bottles with uggy sort of grub things in them)? But I feel like there is so much going on right now that I can't actually process it and make sense of it.
There doesn't seem to be a good starting point.
I could start from where I left off (Cricket, damp jock straps, tall-men) which would mean that I'd be starting the process of processing from Monday (school) but I think I'd miss other crucial bits of information and then I'd be misrepresenting of my overly fascinating life.
I'll try starting from Sunday night. Me and Mol went to Hyde Park to see an Abba Tribute. (This IS a good starting point, now I come to think of it.) I've never been to a Hyde Park concert - I've been in London for 12 years now. Mol is 6.5years and I suspect this marks the beginning of an expensive ('but its cultural mum, to go watch Girls Love Pink in Hyde Park and where is my mini-skirt', 'there is NO WAY you're going out in that belt Mol' etc) habit.
It was a bit cold and a bit blowy but I had a bottle of rose hidden in my un-suitably un-spangly bag and Mol had a packet of Chewitts - so we were well equipped for a night of hard partying and singing our lungs out.
And there were 30,000 people there! How bonkers is that?! I've been to a football match where there are lots of utterly vomit-inducing men and I've been to a concert in Wembley (Stone Roses! how old am I?) with lots of stoned students, but this outdoor concert malarky is a whole different kettle of chips. Just loads and loads and loads of people! My very intelligent friend (whose brain is never on vacation, but that's probably because she uses it) suggested we wrote our phone numbers on to our childrens arms so that if they got lost they could ask a nice stranger (in flares and wig) to call us and reunite us. So I did. I think that slightly freaked Mol out. The thought of getting lost in a crowd so big all she could see were peoples bums and bad shoes. So once I'd tattooed my number to her arm, she then climbed on board and I had her on my shoulders for pretty much the entire concert. No chance of losing her then.
I chugged my rose.
Mol chewed her chewitts.
We sang very loudly.
We shimmied.
We shammied.
We admired Kylie and her outfits.
We laughed at Chris Evans' rotating ginger wig.
We crowd watched.
We ooed and ah-ed at the end-of-concert fireworks.
And then Friend-with-brain brilliantly gave us a lift back home and Mol fell into bed in an Abba-induced coma.
I can't believe there are people out there who don't like Abba? Who are you criminals? Its just unthinkable that you couldn't not want to dance when Dancing Queen strikes up... (ooh, that reminds me... I've got a wedding this weekend... I hope hope hope we have a bit of Abba... that'll totally ruin my new golden stilletoes! watch this space, I'll probably be checking in next week with a broken ankle...)
Today I have a sore throat. Singing for 2.5hours at full blast clearly not the best thing for throats.
Thank you for the music.
Honey honey honey.
I love you. Shmorgersboard.