Too late

HouseGoesHome gives the impression that I party like it’s 1999 … but I actually only party until about 8.30pm … then I head home.

My nickname in my 20s was Cinderella because I always wanted to be in bed by midnight. I’ve cranked that back even earlier with age – about 10pm is my limit these days.

On Friday night I went to bed at 9pm because I was so shattered after working 12 hours on Thursday and then backing up to do another eight hours without a break on Friday.

So you can imagine my horror when DD announced that we had an 8.30pm dinner booking with his friends on Saturday night.

What over 50 year old wants to sit down to dinner at 8.30pm?

That’s when I want to my evenings to end, not begin.

I was already a bit knackered from braving IKEA with the youngest for a few hours earlier in the day. She’s sussing out the merchandise ahead of moving out of home for uni.

We also got Charlie a new girlfriend from the toy section …

At 7pm I caught the bus into town and we kicked off with drinks at The Barber Shop.

Everyone was sipping Gimlets, so I joined the party. I had it in my head that Gimlets are like Martinis, so I wasn’t entirely keen as I think Martinis taste like designer turps.

But it turns out Gimlets feature gin and lime juice and are actually quite yummy. They’ve been around forever and were drunk by British officers in the olden days to prevent scurvy.

I knew a bloke in my 20s who got scurvy in Sydney. I hate to think what his diet must have been like …

Anyways, the Gimlet was yum, then we moved on to a place called Pinky Ji for an Indian banquet.

It was WILD. It has a Bollywood theme, with pink walls and garlands hanging from the ceiling and loud 80s music and women dancing among the tables.

We had the banquet menu …

The Balls of Happiness were a flavour explosion: known in India as golgappa or panipuri, you put the entire crispbread ball in your mouth, bite it and explodes with a liquid mix of mint, tamarind, coriander and yoghurt.

It happened to be the birthday of one of our friends, so he got to wear a sparkly hat and boogie with the Indian dancers.

I was grateful to be in a banquette seat and safe from interaction.

It was almost midnight when I hopped off the bus and tottered home, then the dogs barked me out of bed at 6.30am, so yesterday was a bit of a blur of weariness.

But I rallied to go to Jackson’s on George for a drink with a former housemate on Sunday afternoon.

It was my first time at Jackson’s on George, which had an infamous reputation in Sydney (Delicious.com.au describes it as a “former den of debauchery”) before it got a fancy rebuild at the hands of Maurice Terenzi (Icebergs).

There hadn’t been any couch time with DD in my weekend, so I drove to his place after that to have our favourite Mongolian Combination from the local Chinese place.

And then I tottered home to bed ahead of what is shaping up to be another manic week. I’ll keep you in the weary loop …

Song of the day: Bee Gees “You should be dancing”