Sex, the City, Wine & Some Perspective

29 Dec

Let’s hark back to the days when I was living in London. I lived with a lot of housemates, I had friends over there… but for some reason, when the first Sex and the City movie came out, I could not find a single person to go with me.

Maybe everyone was busy.

Maybe I was just so bloody desperate to see it opening weekend.

Honestly, I probably went and saw it again later anyway.

But that first weekend — I decided to take myself to the movies by myself for the first time ever.

Which was daunting in itself.

I caught the bus to the cinema — one I went to all the time, I think it was near Wandsworth — got myself popcorn, got myself a drink, and sat down alone feeling very brave.

And then that opening scene starts.

You know the one — all the girls talking, the flashbacks.

The absolute best rush!

I loved that movie. (Aside from Big – although I do love Big, which probably says more about my previous terrible taste in men than anything else.)

I walked out on an absolute high. Fully convinced I was living my Sex and the City life — just London instead of New York.

So, with my very tight London budget, I decided I deserved a quick walk through Waitrose.

For those who don’t know, Waitrose is the fancy supermarket in the UK... think Nigella.

I bought myself a ready-made lasagne, so I didn’t have to cook, and I decided to buy a nice bottle of red wine that didn’t taste like vinegar.

Important context: In Australia, even cheap wine is very decent.

In London? Cheap wine is absolutely offensive.

So I splurged. I think I spent about £20, which is basically $40 Australian.

I get the bus home, I’m walking down the hill to my place in my little Sex and the City strut…

…and the bottom of the bag drops out.

The bottle of red wine smashes all over the footpath.

Glass everywhere.

Red wine splattered like a crime scene.

I’m walking past a guy at the exact same moment, and he just looks at me like, what the hell?

I stood there and said, “Er...What do I do?”

And he goes, “You can’t do anything.”

So I nudged some of the glass off the footpath with my shoe and continued sadly down the hill, wondering which Sex and the City character I was meant to be in that moment.

At the bottom of the hill, opposite our apartment block, there was an off-license.

So I went in and bought a crappy vinegar wine.

I got home… and realised the lasagne had mushrooms in it.

And I hate mushrooms.

I'm trying here, guys...

Now — I’m telling you this story because this is exactly what we do going into a new year.