The Barney Affair

For those of you who thought the weekend just gone was the 2nd and 3rd March, I’m afraid to say you were wrong. It was not early March, the first weekend in March, or any other way you might have chosen to refer to it…it was in fact ‘The Barney affair’. This term might be a little unfair as far as renaming goes, as it was the Barney affair only in so much as Barney was the glue that held all of us together for the 72 hour period. And for those of you who are very confused as to how my weekend so heavily involved a purple dinosaur, I can put your minds at rest by explaining that Barney is in fact an affectionate nickname for the inexplicable Hannah Barnetson, and it just so happened to be her 24th birthday.

The 3 day eventing kicked off with Ping-Pong at Bounce bar in London. The thumping music and laser lights of a cool London bar (as if I know what one of those is!) was heightened by the added element of danger: flying ping pong balls. Now, although these aren’t lethal, they have been known to be the downfall of a plethora of cocktails. Protect your Pina Coladas at all costs! The evening was termed ‘chilled’ at its birth, but inevitably as these things progress and more and more cocktails are consumed, with young good looking waiters and chart music added into the mix, ‘chilled’ quite quickly tips over into ‘a little wild’. But it was lots of fun. The quality of the ping-pong was generally poor, but the banter and the lolz (as I believe the youth call them) were top notch. Hence, it was with a bit of a heavy head but a light and fluffy heart that Barney and I hit the sack in the early hours of Saturday morning.

One of our party - another Hannah - had whizzed off to Latvia in the early hours, leaving Barney and I to fend for ourselves. Thankfully we made it to the Sainsbury’s on Saturday morning, stocked up on an interesting variety of self-titled ‘brunch’ food (incl. yoghurt, pastries, a scotch egg and some chocolate…) and fell back into bed in order to stock up on rest. As we munched away on our ‘breakfast’ the natural progression led our Netflix noses to ‘The Breakfast Club’. Having never seen the movie before I have to say it was very well received, and after the backdrop of Breakfast squared, Barney and I took our sweet (and savoury) time getting ready. Barney’s hair itself needs a whole room of its own, as well as a personal stylist. Despite not being up to the job, I was the best she had, so after miraculously few minor burns we were dolled up and ready to go to Afternoon Tea!

The Cranley Hotel was our host, with its bold and colourful decor it perfectly complimented our personalities and so we whiled away the hours (3 in fact!) eating mini sandwiches, delightful scones, and quaffing copious cups of tea, as well as a prosecco (or two!). It was a thoroughly wonderful afternoon tea, and I would argue the perfect lining of any stomach that was due to be salsa-ing in a few hours time. We then left the luxuries of South Kensington behind us (darling!) and headed to a cocktail bar to drink Martini’s with Faye. The so-termed ‘Instagrammable’ drinks were enjoyed by all and turned out to be the perfect beginning to a glamorous and sophisticated evening…of crazy golf. Swingers is the worrying name of the bar, but thankfully that had more to do with sports than sex, and it was in this location that the larger party congregated and picked up our clubs, ready for battle. 2 teams of 5 worked their way around the course, with a winning score of 29 by Nicolas, hotly pursued by a 31 from his significant other, Ali. I didn’t put in too shabby a performance, jointly 3rd with 33 points (and a hole in one to my name!).

All that competition makes for thirsty and hungry work, so we sat down, ordered cocktails, and two of the Italians in our party purchased a pizza - not that they were being predictable! I picked at the rocket that they had so cruelly neglected - the perfect garnish to round off the golf! And with that we walked to a nearby Salsa bar and danced the night away. Barney danced the Cuban Salsa with a dashing young man. I - true to form - danced a slightly clunkier routine with a slightly creepy middle-aged man, but beggars can’t be choosers…and for the rest of the evening I had the perfect partner: the birthday girl herself! After learning apparently an entire Salsa routine my mind (and legs) were exhausted, and so we quitted the Salsa bar just as the music moved from funky to flat, working our way home to Fulham. Our journey home was only broken by the desperate search for milk. Now, this might seem odd, but the flat in which we were staying was tarnished only by a deficit of normal and in-date milk. It was the best birthday present I could offer to Barney on that Sunday morning: a cup of tea made with ordinary, semi-skimmed. Who says I’m not a good friend?

The next morning we woke up surprisingly (and suspiciously) fresh. We waved goodbye to our wonderful hosts and headed to Wendover for a family lunch in a family pub. I - the imposter - had a lovely time pretending to be a Barnetson (although the lack of a ginger gene does make me stand out). The roaring fire inside made up for the roaring winds out there, and so we made the most of a cosy and comforting hearty dinner, including a birthday cake dessert. Hurrah! It was then time for a train ride back to mine, a few hours of rest and recuperation, and the final leg on our journey of celebration: Tapas. We met G & J, along with E (more commonly known as ‘Ed’) at the Tapas bar. We drank Kir Royal, consumed chorizo and hummus as well as the world’s most thinly sliced mushrooms, and finally tucked into Turkish delight. A thoroughly filling evening - both in terms of company and consumption. I believe I can safely say it was a successful Birthday weekend. Quite the opposite of an illicit affair, the weekend was a bold, bright and beautiful celebration of Barney, just as it should be, and it was a pleasure to spend it with her.

That being said I am completely exhausted now and with the beginnings of a cold, and it’s all her fault!