So this weekend, we had a trip to Ikea (pronouced here as IK-KEY-AH otherwise no one know what the hell you're talking about) planned. We has been concerned about the old cash flow, I find these Euro things a bit difficult to get on with, but decided to go an have a look anyway, and with a budget in mind, I knew would be able to get a few bits needed to add a few more homely touches to chez moi's bedroom.
Apparently a trip to IK-KEY-AH is something of a family outting in Athens! We zipped around the upstairs enjoying the views of fabulously put together show rooms, silently wishing our empty echoey lounge would somehow transform in to an Ikea palace. So far, our prayers to the God of Soft Furnishings have gone unanswered. Off we went to the downstairs, where you can actually touch things and put them in your yellow bag to BUY!!! As we went down the stairs, it was like entering the inside on an ant's nest - people everywhere - suddenly your I kea bag turns in to a form of defence saying you from being battered by mad Athenians with armfuls of material and crockery.
My main reason to go enter the Sweedish den was to purchase a fabulous bed set. I have discovered the secret to loving my room is all about colour at the moment, and on my last trip, had spied a fabulous, if slightly garish, duvet cover. Well this was where the nightmare really started. We started in very British manner, no please you go first and all that jazz, but after 30 minutes of trying to decide which cover i wanted, as slightly garish cover unavilable, we were sweating and had headaches of the worst degree. It was time for full on elbow out, Greek grabbing what you wanted as soon as you could, and if you bruise someone in the process, well never mind, their fault for being in the way!
As we made our way to the checkout, we were both exhausted, hungry and feeling a little fragile. Combine this with a half hour wait for a cab, there was a need for crisps and juice as we sat waiting for a cab to collect. Eventually, the yellow light of hope arrived, and off we sped to heaven, also known as home, to relax before getting out dancing shoes on!
After some stop starting, yes and noing, to and froing, we decided yes we would hit Gazi for giggles and good times! The excitement started to get going as we decided what to wear, spangle shorts for Saturday night dancing for me, and a sexy backless number for my lovely flatmate. Off we tottered in eagerness, hailed a cab and off we sped!
Or so we thought...after THE most slow and jerky journey we finally reached Gazi. We trotted to Soho Bar, said hello to our friends that work there, and relaxed enjoying the music, a drink and some snacks which arrive at our table. We sat for a wee while, untill the pumping bassline was too much we hit the dancefloor.
Ahhh English Girls, a salute for us where ever we are in the world, I think we know how to have fun the best! As we strutted our stuff on the dancefloor, giggles at each other and just had general silly-ness, we noticed we were the only girls dancing, and that we were quickly becoming victims of murder on the dancefloor. Yes sir, it seems the Greek girls have an unwriten rule: CLUBBING INVOLVES STANDING ON THE DANCEFLOOR, POSING AND SIPPING ONES DRINK. ONE MUST NEVER LOOK LIKE ONE IS HAVING FUN! They laugh, make fun, push and make any kind of spitefull look is thrown in our direction. On this occassion, it really felt much worse than usual. Is there a reason to behave like this?
I feel unfair to tar all Greek girls with the same brush - we have some lovely Greek female friends, who I really like, and have never ever behaved this way towards us. But it saddens me to think this is the way to behave towards us, after all we're looking to have a good time and get on aren't we?