Being ladies.

I'm grateful to Emerald Street for a lot of things... mid morning laughs at silly dog photos, discovering new cafes and restaurants, and adding new books to the I-need-to-read-this-oh-wait-I-never-have-time-to-read-anymore list... but for their Two For One Afternoon Tea offer that flagged up in my inbox last week - I send them a big fat HIGH FIVE.

As Mothers Day fell on my birthday this year, I arranged to take my mum out on Monday instead. Living away from my home town, I always enjoy whatever chance I get for a bit of one on one time with her - spoiling her for a change ain't bad either.

Scrubbed up for Mother's Day.

So at a totally unreasonable 9am, we set off to start our day. Before heading into town for lunch, it was a quick stop off at the Beatson for a treatment (the cancer kind, not a mani and pedi kind unfortunately). Being away from home makes me forget sometimes that the cancer thing is still such a big part of mums routine, so in a way it was good for me to go with her to the hospital. 

Rachael, what is this - a post about hospitals or cream cakes and fluffy scones? I know, I know - sorry.

We got to Blythswood Square in Glasgow at 12pm, even though our booking wasn't until half past. I imagine we looked like hungry little puppies skipping up those front steps to the doorman, but he never let on. We walked into the lobby as casually as we could, trying to control our little noses from sniffing out the goods before we'd even reached The Salon.

A facially gifted waiter showed us to our table - sorry - couches, and brought us drinks while we waited for our food. Mum and I shared a few schoolgirl giggles every time he looked in our direction, but he might as well have been a slab of pavement the moment that food came out of the kitchen...

Smoked salmon and cream cheese on sun dried tomato bruschetta

Prosciutto and relish on sun dried tomato bruschetta

 Sandwiches with beef & horseradish, ham & mustard, emmental & pesto

Fruit and plain scones with butter and jam

Mini Cake Selection - strawberry tart, chocolate brownie, lemon drizzle cake, and carrot cake.

Just to be clear - that was EACH. All washed down with a glass of Prosecco and a delicious latte, I was just about ready to curl up on the couch for a nap. I wouldn't even have minded if tasty waiter had joined me.

Blythswood Square was just as lovely as I imagined it. The food was delicious, the staff were really attentive, and my mum really enjoyed herself. I repeat - high five Emerald Street. Thanks for a lovely day out!

Bags and boys.

I don’t even want to get into the topic of balls, or how much time men spend fondling them. But ol’ Carrie was definitely onto something here… I do feel naked without my bag. 

The insecurity that comes with going bag free in public is baffling – especially considering the fact that nothing of any great importance is ever in there. 99% of the time, my bag is essentially made up of makeup that’s not even on my face that day… and a never-ending stock of receipts (Sidenote: I never return anything anyway). But without it, I just feel incomplete. 

Boys do not understand this turmoil.

It’s usually a toss-up between “Why do you need a huge bag – what’s in here?!” and “It’s tiny – what could you possibly fit in here?!” but my answer is always the same – MIND YO’ BUSINESS.

Yes, we may ask you to hold our bag occasionally when we have more important stuff to tend to. But that doesn’t mean that we like knowing the bag is right there, by our side should we need it. Yes, we probably will change our entire outfit in favour of the bag if, when asked “Does this bag go with my outfit?, you hesitate for even a millisecond. And no, we won’t stop our mad bag-lady ways, so quit bugging us about it.

Back off, boys - you're fighting a losing battle. Put it this way - what if we told you that you couldn’t rearrange your bits/heat your mits/grab em in a LAD like manner in public for a whole day? Carnage. It would be utter carnage.

Writings on the wall.

It's 1am on a night out. Drinks have been spilled down my dress, makeup has started sliding down my face, and I've fallen out with everyone except that one girl in the group that I can't usually stand to be around, because "she's the only one who really understands me". Before buying her a drink and planning a summer holiday with her, nature calls and I stagger my way to the toilets.

I breeze into a stall and relieve myself of those seven gins and four jagerbombs. I suddenly find myself in the cubicle of life, pondering all of lives little questions that are sweeping through my brain faster than that last shot at the bar. I feel myself being drawn to the scribblings on the walls, wondering the stories behind them...

I turn and look to my left. Now - generally speaking, Richie is a boys name. I highly doubt that Richie has snuck his way into the ladies lavvy to express his 'eva'-lasting love for Holly on the cubicle wall. Has Holly done this, knowing in her heart of hearts that Richie does and always will love her? Is she a jilted ex who is taking time out of her 'I don't need no man!" bravado to miss him in the safety of the cubicle of life? Let it out Holly... no one can hurt you in here.

I turn to my right, and feel instantly bad for Elaine. Does she really smell like shit? Or is this just the result of a quarrel out on the dancefloor earlier that night? Long gone are the days of song lyrics and phone numbers - we're now choosing to diss while we piss. I'm suddenly suspicious of the use of pen over the popular scratching-into-the-paint method. Who comes out to a nightclub with a Biro? This was not a spontaneous act... Elaine was doomed from the start. I decide there and then not to trust whoever wrote this. Elaine, you probably smell wonderful - I've got your back.

I can't help but wonder if my name is scribbled on the wall somewhere in this world - is someone professing their undying love for me, or stating that I smell like shit?