After dark activities include sitting on a sad giraffe's lap (although this one is broken and doesn't grant wishes I don't think), apple&passion fruit cider (also first but alas the last attempt), also a first ever romantic discussion over whether it was a salami or garlic my company could smell on my breath after I burped. I could only possibly get classier on the Wednesday night if my thongs were showing..

UPDATE: 'A sad giraffe' expression since became a legit and often used terminus technicus in our vocabulary, and as Emma noted ("You are SO dating a girl") - with David’s period and a hormonal tsunami coming up with a 3-4 weeks regularity - we do look forward with dread to the ’sad giraffe’ phase, but fortunately still being able to make fun of it.

And so far it has always passed eventually.

P.S.: Also, if I ever marry this man, and yes, it's crazy, but I can't/don't need to/don't want to imagine any other better future scenario, we WILL BE SERVING the kiwi&lime + apple&passion fruit Old Mout Cider at the reception. Get your puke buckets ready.