Saturday night undeniably belonged to the ladies. Or hen's as it were. My beautiful, dear, childhood friend Kristy, being the chief hen. For once, it was a hen's night consisting of all good clean fun. No sleazy stripper in sight. No ridiculous pranks or dares. Just a bunch of old (and I mean long term, not age) friends livin' it up in the big city. Back in the day, long before marriage and children and mortgages, night's like Saturday were a weekend ritual. We all met in high school (some 19 years ago... yikes!) and a few of us don't get to see one another near enough nowadays. But I'm a firm believer that time will always stand still for good friendships.
So we conquered The Rocks, glasses topped full of our chosen poison. Talking, giggling, squealing and I may have mentioned... DANCING. Around midnight, we decided to take a short stroll a little further uptown to one of Sydney's oldest and most established pubs, Jackson's on George. It is old school dingy, despite evidently undergoing a little makeover since I was last there. But just as I remember, it delivers a good mix of dance classics. Modern and not so modern. We melted through a stifling Sydney heat wave, but it failed to deter us from carving up the dance floor. Feeling eighteen once again. Well, almost eighteen. Few more wrinkles and grey hairs. Slightly less stamina. Though it sure did transport us back to a fun loving time. We made it into the wee hours of Sunday, so I guess we still have "it" in some capacity, for a bunch of thirty somethings anyway. Oh! how I enjoy a boogie with friends.
My fabulous friend Rach captured these golden moments during her snap happy frenzy. A couple of them are utterly cringe-worthy. But wonderfully memorable all the same.