And so, it was on the 20th of January 2012, which was a Friday, and it was a good day, that Friday, that some people, collectively known as Bloggers, did gather together, and they did drink, and chat, and verily, they did join (unbeknownst to them) the Cult of Venting.
Praise the Venting!
Sing Hallelujah and buy me gin! I did travel far, and long, and came upon The London, and was met by an acolyte with the eyes of dazzling blue that did not seem OF THIS WORLD, which was how I knew he was SPECIAL and PROBABLY MOST LIKELY to be SAHDandproud, sent to collect me and transport me under the ground to my hallowed destination. Sure, there was a brief moment when he did not seem to know the way, and I worried that I would be bundled into a blacked-out van and trafficked to Russia and forced at gunpoint to marry an oligarch called Vladimir and remain forever his British bargain bride, but SAHDandproud is a noble man and true, and didn’t traffic me, and actually just got a bit lost.
And yea, we did descend upon the Grace bar in Soho in The London, where there were more acolytes awaiting the presence of Venting, and yea, they were A Mummy Too, who looked ridiculously gorgeous and awake and sane despite giving birth to a baby 13 weeks ago, and Richmond Mummy, who was beautiful and glamorous and had a nice necklace which Venting did covet (coveting is allowed in the Cult of Venting).
And Venting did sit upon her black, carved throne within the private room of the Grace bar in Soho in The London, and await the arrival of the remaining disciples. There was South of the River Mum, and Not A Notting Hill Mum, both valiant ladies, and Romanian Mum, who did endure the Venting’s attempts at rudimentary Romanian with grace and good cheer. The Cult of Venting did also welcome From Fun To Mum within its bosom, who brought sparkle and light and Italian va-va-voom to the chamber.
Then the peaceful atmosphere and gentle chanting was shattered by the entrance of Mammasaurus and Actually Mummy, and there was some honking to be done, and much touching of breasts, which is usual, and indeed, expected within the Cult, and to be impressed upon any new and eager member. Anyone interested in receiving religious honking instruction should contact Mammasaurus, who is the High Priestess of Honk and most well-versed in the quality honkage.
By now the Venting was hungry and wanted cheese. Some tardy members of the Cult did finally arrive and bestow gifts of bosomy cuddles upon the Venting. There was Just Above Average Mummy and Ministry of Mum, who are equally adorable and awesome people, and worthy of much praise from all of us, and Venting did love them verily. Hallelujah!
Then we did eat, and imbibe, and chat raucously, and eat ice cream lasciviously, and fellate some Belgian waffle. There was laughter, foot stamping, eating of meat, sliding of doors, mass debating, anecdotal tomfoolery, more gin, physical acts of affection, leave-takings, further imbibings, and then trains had to be caught so we exited our sacred chamber and went forth into London and attempted some spaffing by the statue of Eros. Oh no wait, that was within Venting’s fevered imaginations.
Suffice to say and without any further ado, the Cult of Venting is well and truly open. The Cult empowers women and promotes gin-based commandments, which shall be revealed, written in stone, atop a mountain, after a great storm and parting of muff. Hallelujah, amen and all that stuff.
And the great Venting did say, ‘Innit’, and her will was done. Innit.
So yes, we all had a really nice time and I met some fab people, who I sincerely hope will be friends for life. I’m looking at YOU when I say that.
Roll on the next gathering! Hoopla!