It’s amazing how good something seems after a fully enforced break. Take, for example, my trip back into lesbian nightlife last week.

My girlfriend and I have spent a few months off the tiles, you see, what with becoming mothers and everything. It’s not like we’ve just been sitting at home reading baby shop catalogues and looking at the baby. We’ve done lots of non-catalogue-related stuff, honestly. But we’ve not managed to get into a strange-smelling room full of unknown lesbians since his coming out. And sadly, that’s the first few months of consecutive non-dyke-nighting either of us has done in more than a decade (except for that three-month stint of mine in India. Try looking for a lesbian club in Mumbai before complaining about the crap Sydney has on offer.)

So anyway, Wednesday night was marked on our calendar a week before the planned event: Big Night Out. Unlike in our olden days, this was not born of a vague group text message at 7pm flagging either of our drunken intentions. Instead, it was a well-oiled, careful plan organised to the last detail. Babysitters? Check, and an ex-girlfriend and her current partner to boot. Talk about lesbian community. Mates? Amazingly, check, there were still some talking to us despite our constant baby-harping-onny-ness. Venue? Check, a benefit of moving out to the inner-western lesbian ghetto, a short walk down the road. Beer money? Check, and how. Three months of staying at home and we can almost buy the pub. Energy? Less-than-full-check. We spent at least half an hour on the couch wondering if we could actually be bothered going.

But bother we did, and bloody hell, dykes are fun. From the moment we left home, yawning, to the moment, two and a half hours -“ and two beers -“ later, when we left to get some greasy food on the way home, I was stoked. It had almost all the elements of a big night: fun, mates, drinks, stupid advice, girl-checking-out, bad toilet conversations and much crap talking. The only missing things were a bad dancing session, a fierce work hangover, my clothes stinking of smoke and the witnessing of a random seduction of some poor girl by one of my friends. Oh well, there’s always another night -“ probably in three months’ time. Can’t wait.

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