Lech be a lady tonight

Not having a car is leading to all sorts of new experiences, the last of which seems to have done something to my hip. Saturday was my friend T’s birthday and she had invited me out to go out with a couple of friends, one of whom would drive us to a local town. The driver, however, could not get a babysitter, an occupational hazard of being the parent of young children. Normally I, being one of the few other drivers in the group, would have offered to get out the tank and we would have chugged our way a few tried and tested miles down the road. Not last night - another friend, M, came forward and suggested a trip further afield to the club where her brother was a DJ. Her husband decided that he couldn’t let us out on our own and said he would drive.

We ended up in the heart of Reading’s Polish community. M and her twin brother moved from Poland to England a few years ago and her brother has a regular Saturday night slot at Gospoda, a Polish pub/club where he plays dance music (and I don't mean a genteel foxtrot) into the early hours of the morning. We arrived at a time (9.30ish) when few punters had plucked up the courage (or downed enough Lech larger) to strut their stuff on the wooden dance floor, but that did not stop T. She was clearly born to party and in a pair of heels that should have made her hobble, wobble and topple over but didn’t, she made the floor her own. Her much younger niece had warned me that I would be hard pressed to keep up with her. She was right. And I was wearing comfy biker boots.

In brief breaks from dancing, we sat outside among people who spoke little English, but a good deal more than our Polish. It was a strange and rather wonderful experience. In the way that Marlon Brando and Jean Simmons apparently flew from New York to Havana for dinner (as Sky Masterson and Sergeant Sarah Brown in Guys and Dolls) we seemed to have done the impossible and driven to Warsaw for the evening. And this is something that I would not have done had I not given up the car.

There was a good, friendly crowd and I didn’t feel what I had feared  - out of place and at least 30 years older than almost everyone else.  I  stomped my comfy boots with the best of them - though grungy comfort clearly wasn’t the fashion  and T’s heels were no exception there.  The only problem was that by around 1am I had shaken off all pretence of youth and was thinking of sitting down with a nice cup of tea before getting into bed. We didn’t leave until 2.30am. On the other hand, I don’t think T would have wanted to leave any earlier and it was her birthday.(PS she's older than I am).

That is, of course, the drawback of being given a lift:  you are not free to leave when you wish. Having your own car gives you an independence that is not to be sniffed at. Being dependent on others can mean an unequal relationship, or at least a perceived one on one side. Being dependent on public transport can leave you stranded. T recalled a night out in Reading once before when she and her friend had to wait until the 6am train before they could go home. “It was summer so it could have been worse,” she said philosophically, “but it was still a bit cold.”

The other option is to take taxis but only if you have money to throw around.  We are going on a visit to my parents soon and, armed with our soon-to-be-purchased rail card, will be taking the train. Unfortunately, despite my assiduous studying of complicated bus timetables, there are no buses to take us from the only train station for miles around (thanks Dr Beeching), and the only way to get all five of us from the station to the restaurant where we all plan to meet is to take a taxi. It will cost us about £2 a mile. Hmm.

Still, my international jet setting this week has taught me something that I shall be able to use once we are at the restaurant where we shall celebrate my brother’s birthday. I shall be able to raise a glass and say “Na zdrowie!” Cheers!

Note to self: ask M how to pronounce word. Further note to self: See doctor about dodgy hip damaged while dancing.