Driving

One of the most awesome things about not drinking is driving.

It took me a while after I quit to really get the driving thing. I wasn't used to using my car much. But now, I just love it.

Last night, for example, Mr SM and I were meeting some old friends in a restaurant in Covent Garden.

In the bad old days this would have meant either struggling with a long tube journey in rush hour, or a very expensive taxi ride.

Coming home would have been even more tricky, as with all the theatres emptying out, a black cab would have been hard to find, Uber would be on triple time, and the tube filled with (other) drunks.

But last night all I had to do was walk outside my front door and jump in my car. Stuck some good music on, set the SatNav, and off we went.

And I've discovered that as practically no-one drives into the West End, you can always find somewhere to park. For free.

Oh joy.

Then there's parties. Remember that awful moment when you realised that you just had to put the drink down and go home?

Often it would involve tracking down the host to find a mini cab number, waiting for said cab, trying to look sober(ish) so they won't refuse to take you, having to drive round and round to find a cashpoint while making inane conversation about the vagaries of the British climate, when all you want to do is go to sleep (pass out).

NO MORE! Now you can be your own personal night bus. Your own on demand chauffeur, ready to whisk yourself home as soon as you've had enough.

Plus, you become super popular with all your (drunk) friends as you can drive them back too.

You also have the joy of playing the go-on-please-stop-me-and-breathalyse-me game whenever you pass a police car. It gives me a frisson every time.

(See my post: Fear of Cashiers and Police Cars).

Out of town parties are even more smug making. While all your friends are spending fortunes on hotels, and taxis to and from said hotels to party venue, so long as you're not more than two hours away you can just drive there....and drive back.

Ok, you might not get huge amounts of sleep, but at least you wake up in your own (free) bed, without a hangover. What's not to like?

So, all in all, I'm totally in love with my car.

Until yesterday.

I took #2 and five of his friends to Kidzania at Westfield Shopping Centre to celebrate his birthday, and the last day of the school holidays.

The boys - aged ten - were all completely hyped up, and when we arrived they jumped out of the car in a flash, and headed off.

I chased after them, yelling, in a totally un-repsonsible-adult way, and only realised once I'd dropped them off at Kidzania that I had NO IDEA where I'd parked my car, in a car park with literally thousands of spaces.

Instead of having a couple of hours to shop while the boys went crazy in Kidzania, I spent the whole time wandering round the car park trying to find my vehicle.

Which just goes to show - even sober people can be total pillocks from time to time.

Love SM x

Shopping Addiction

Today I took #1, #2 and #3 to KidZania. There are several of these amusement parks around the world, and the latest one opened a few weeks ago at London's Westfield shopping centre.

The place is extraordinary. It's a whole miniature city. The kids are given some fake cash as they go in, then they find 'work' as, for example, a fireman, a doctor or a hairdresser which earns them more cash. They have banks and cashpoints, a university, a recycling centre, restaurants and shops (which accept the fake money).

#1 said "I had really high expectations of this place, and it's exceeded all of them." And she's not easily impressed.

One of the best things about KidZania is that, if your kids are aged seven or over, you can just check them in and leave them to it for four hours. They're electronically tagged so that they can find each other, and you can find them.

Sadly, #3 is only six and a half. So (shut your eyes now if you are a perfect mother) we taught her how to lie on the journey there.

There was a tense moment when the checker-inner asked her "how old are you, #3?" We all held our breaths. "Seven!" she squeaked. Her interrogator's eyes narrowed (#3 is very small, even for six and a half) "When is your birthday? And what year were you born?" she asked, sneakily. #3 looked a little pale and sweaty, but managed to trot out the fake birthdate (making her just seven) like a seasoned pro. That girl will make a great politician or lawyer one day.

So, I now had hours to kill in one of the biggest and best shopping centres in Britain.

(I do hope that Mr SM doesn't decide to read this post. He's Scottish. He honestly believes that no-one needs more than two pairs of shoes: one for work, and one for home. Darling, if you are reading then stop now. It'll only make you queasy and miserable. It's not worth it).

Despite the fact that Westfield is only fifteen minutes drive away I have only ever been there for the restaurants and movies. I've never hit the shops. The truth is that for more than a decade I haven't really been interested in shopping. It's no fun if you're feeling fat and generally hating yourself. I only shopped online, and mainly for stuff that wouldn't stand out.  Ideally in black.

But now I'm feeling rather different. For a start I'm nearly a stone (fourteen pounds) lighter. I'm a medium! (I always hated buying anything in LARGE).

I went a little crazy.

I bought a top from Reiss (justification: it's white. It'll go with anything).
I bought new trainers (sneakers), running top and capri pants from the Nike store (justification: the more you spend on a new hobby, the more likely you are to keep it up).
I bought new underwear and nightwear from Calvin Klein (justification: sorry, it's not that kind of blog. There are some things I don't share. I'm not a Kardashian).

By then end of this splurge I felt HIGH. I was light headed. My pulse was racing. I was intoxicated.

I bought a coffee and Googled 'shopping addiction'. (I wonder how many people have Googled that one from Westfield).

It turns out that shopping releases endorphins and dopamine, just like drugs and alcohol. It is quite common for alcoholics to quit drinking and take up excessive shopping. There's even a Shopaholics Anonymous with a twelve step programme!

I left Westfield feeling horribly guilty and sort of hungover.

But, hell, I have a really cool pair of trainers (sneakers).

Love SM x

Related post: Cross Addictions