Last night Pal and I went out for dinner for our 5th wedding anniversary.
Pal’s mum and brother came to babysit. I had asked Pal to ask them if they could take the children for a sleepover, but Pal did not.
He in fact only remembered to ask him mum to babysit two days beforehand.
Which goes to show two things:
One. If you want something done, do it yourself.
Two. My inlaws are awesome for agreeing to look after our ferals on short notice.
I had wanted to avoid a 6am wakeup after a night with such copious amounts of celebration.
Alas, once I realized that a 6am wakeup was inevitable I curbed my expectations of numerous bottles of champagne, savoured over candle light.
To just one glass of champagne thrown back in order to be home before 9pm.
But who cares really? I didn’t once I was presented with this little precious:
Once we’d fancied ourselves up (and I mean fancy, Pal was literally more dressed up for dinner than he was for our wedding – where he wore jeans) we headed out.
It was half an hour before our dinner reservation, which meant there was only one thing to do.
Go to the pub for a drink:
We decided to leave after we were informed we’d be able to buy meat raffle tickets soon. Because I love a good meat raffle, but fancy 5th wedding anniversaries are not conducive.
We headed to the restaurant:
I had never been there before but it is now my favourite place on Earth. For two reasons:
One. The atmosphere, decor and food was beautiful.
Two. They serve a mean Pimms.
Seriously good stuff. Seriously too much. Seriously going back. And not just for the huge chalk drawing of a cow.
We were home at 8:45pm. Because we are total ragers. And also because my husband is a baker/pastry chef and manager of the bakery department and often starts work at 5:30am.
Which I knew when I married him. 5 years ago.