Over The Bridge
I woke up in a magnificent state of disarray. Lying next to me is a girl I have never seen before. There is also a boy passed out on the floor. I tip toe out of the room as to not wake my new friends. I’m in a mansion and that’s all I know.
Where is Queen L? I pop my head into several rooms and eventually spot her red mop of hair sticking out from under the covers of a king size bed.
Instead of continuing with my silent mission I run up and jump on her, I’m clearly still highly intoxicated.
“Where the fuck am I?” she groans.
“Not a fucking clue, come on lets go.”
We gather our belongings and whats left of our dignity and head for the door. Queen L stops dead in her tracks.
“Wow, look at that view.”
“Whoever owns this house must be pretty smancy.”
In fact our entire Friday night was pretty smancy apart from the Pie Face pig out at approximately 2am. But lets not get ahead of ourselves here. Let’s start from the beginning of this fabulously fancy evening.
12 hours earlier…
It was a really dreary afternoon in Sydney, however after a huge working week the girls and I were determined to kick of the weekend in style.
Somehow things got dramatically better once we found refuge in this super ritzy penthouse in The Rocks.
And so the night began, very classy indeed…
And then under the watchful eye of my main man (the Sydney Harbour Bridge) things started to get, well…a little messy. At around 8pm we made our way up the road to Establishment and then eventually to Palmer and Co. Many eventful nights have taken place at Palmer and Co including the night I met Ryan Gosling and the night I got into a little fight with the guy off Modern Family.
As always the evening turned into a blur of champagne and suits with a potato pie chucked in for good measure.
12 hours later we are standing outside a huge sandstone mansion, looking less than pristine.
I am dialling a cab service and Queen L is sitting on the curb sifting through the business cards in her handbag.
“Ohhh I met a chiropractor last night” she says proudly.
The cab service operator asks me for my pickup location. Fuck. It then dawns on me that I actually have no idea where we are. I look around, there are no homeless people or dilapidated terrace houses.
Oh Queen La Queefa, we aren’t in Surry Hills anymore.
The lady on the other line tries to stifle a giggle as two semi intoxicated girls attempt to describe their surroundings.
“Hilltop Cres!” Queen L yells pointing to a street sign.
“We are also surrounded by a lot of water and expensive yachts” I add as if its any help at all.
After a few minutes of this charade the woman tells me that we are actually in Fairlight, this piece of information goes straight over my head.
We sit on our new friends perfectly maintained lawn and wait for the cab. I call Queen B to let her know that we are ok. When she asks where we are I say “fairfax apparently its somewhere in Manly”. I can almost hear Queen B her rolling her eyes.
As the cab approaches we both launch ourselves off the ground and proceed to run into the middle of the street waving our hands wildly. Fairlight just got themselves a couple of crazies after all.
“Take us back to The Dirthouse” Queen L demands slumping down into the back seat of the cab.
As my man comes into sight I feel a flood of relief. I am never, ever crossing the bridge again.
Another classy Friday night for The Dirthouse Queens. Another classy night indeed.