Hen do #2: Leeds with the fabulous cannae Teesiders

Hen do number 2 was last weekend. Location: Leeds. Bride-to-be: Louise Hadfield. Lu and I met back in 2002 at college where we shared many a lunches and Psychology classes together. This makes her my oldest friend to be getting hitched.


It was surprising to have been invited to both the hen do and wedding because you know how you end up losing touch over time with old friends, acquaintances and even family members? We make promises to meet up regularly but real life, along with its demanding schedules, money issues and little hours to breathe, makes it hard to just travel across the country for a weekend. But thanks to the wonders of Facebook and texting, we still managed to keep in some contact during Christmas, birthdays and half terms while she was up in Durham and me in Sheffield.

The Hilton Hotel was where we reunited for a day of pampering. After months of work worries, work stresses and work frustration, a massage, facial and sauna was just what I needed. Some of you may be wondering why I opted for a treatment that involves people touching my neck and shoulders. Yes I am ticklish and yes I do freak out even before contact has been made. Call it whatever you want – commitment issues, invasion of personal space, my love to be in control, my absolute hatred of being ticked. However this past year I have noticed myself becoming more physically tense – so much so that it has affected my posture and ease at relaxing.

Before I knew it I was face down on the massage table, Dido playing in the background (I personally would have preferred Enya) and, Laura the masseuse trying to get me to relax. I had to grip the side of the table because I fought hard not to laugh hysterically as I felt her hands on me. Eventually she stopped and told me simply to picture a happy place and focus on it.

October 2007 – I’m standing on top of Table Mountain in Cape Town staring out at the clear blue Atlantic Ocean, eyes fixated on the physically small, yet magnitude in all that it stood for, Robben Island. I can still feel the light breeze on that gloriously sunny day and the sheer happiness running through my veins. It was a feeling quite like no other. There is this cliché that ‘life is not about the number of breaths you take but the moments that take your breath away’. Three years have gone by and I still have not experienced a breathtaking moment even remotely close to Cape Town. As sad as it is to admit, that is the last time I felt truly happy. So happy that I was able to block out every worry and constant feelings of disappointment and failures (something I can’t seem to do now).

The massage left me feeling relaxed and almost euphoric. I totally recommend them. Next was a facial done by a lady called Bev who claimed to be 38 but I swear looked 25. Bev is someone you would want to be friends with – infectious laugh, witty and free spirited. She got so excited when I told her that I’m off to Las Vegas in October that she decided to spend her 40th there.

Facials are great at cleaning out the gunk and dirt off your face. However going into a steam room straight after being exfoliated? Not a good idea. Within 15 minutes my eyes burned and my skin itch. Had I stayed longer I could have ended up with scratches on my face and a horrible rash. The price of beauty right?

Pampering finished, 11 ladies set off for a night of food, cocktails and dancing. Lu’s friends are all genuinely nice – cannae nice lasses as the Geordie/ Teeside would say. I particularly bonded with a teacher called Julie who coincidentally knows a girl I studied Journalism with. Julie and I had the conversation that I can only dream of having on a date. Sat opposite each other at the dinner table we talked about our passion for Human Rights, Amnesty and the prejudices in this world. The key ingredient that made our conversation work was genuine interest. While many a boy have turned away by my incontrollable urge to talk about real, deep topics (agreed by Julie) us ladies welcomed it. Our chat came to an end when we got onto the issue of stoning in Iran – something the rest of ladies did not want to hear over their dessert. Conversation resumes at the wedding.

The time came to paint Leeds red and dance until not even Party Feet could hide the pain from our soles. Obviously it being a hen do, we had on accessories. While the bride donned a pink cowboy hat and veil, the rest of us (chicks?) wore pink headbands and balloons. Such attire gave reason for three bouncers to turn us away. Three. One of them was at a gay bar. One bouncer even smirked at the mother of the bride and told her: “You’re most definitely not coming in here with that on.” Now I’m not being funny but where’s the restriction on the drunken fake tanned, peroxide girl who wore what can only be described as a t-shirt as she threw herself at the middle aged bouncer? I wore a classy, black wrap dress from Coast for crying out loud!

After finally being admitted into a places called Brown’s we had one drink before moving on to the Mecca of all acceptance, the one place where you’ll probably stick out like a sore thumb if you were dressed down: Flares. Rather than turn us away because of ‘inappropriate’ attire, we were given a goody bag filled with large Elton John style sunglasses, microphone, streamers, headbands for being on a hen do. Nothing quite like Flares – cheesy music, awful, sugary cocktails and the YMCA dance routine? Brilliant.

Only half the group ended up here because they were too tired. This included Lu’s sister and maid of honour. I had a feeling it wasn’t her thing but she should have stayed. At the end of day if the bride is your sister, you stay no matter how much it’s not your scene. I missed my Ben and Wendie’s first dance and still two years later she still brings it up. The bride never forgets.

In eight days time I’m off up to Darlington for the wedding. I haven’t met Rob, the groom, yet but if Lu picked him then I am sure he is one hell of a guy.