On Saturday morning, I was walking into Woolwich to buy some multivitamins and a laundry basket when a friend phoned to say she had a spare ticket for Somerset House if I was interested.
By the time both of us had made our way to the Strand only twenty minutes of our allocated slot remained, but we made the most of it to the sound of Belle & Sebastian's I'm A Cuckoo over the PA.
The ice was slushy with a lot of surface water, and by the end of the session many patrons were gliding around with wet botties. I was just congratulating myself on not being among them when I was crashed into from behind and went down so categorically that I was soaked from ankle to midriff for the rest of the morning. As I'd only popped out to do a bit of shopping, I was wearing a light raincoat and no gloves. Ah well.
Sunday was a premeditated trip to the Old Royal Naval College in Greenwich with slightlyfoxed. Being appropriately kitted out right down to motorcycle gloves for the prevention of finger-severing by other people's skates, this time I naturally remained more or less vertical and far too hot.
One tubby little girl in a rainbow-striped jumper spent more time on her bum than on her feet, but was stoically good-humoured about it. After I'd helped her up for the fourth time we held hands for a bit, but it didn't do either of us much good.
I'd cunningly booked for four o'clock in the hope that rosy sunset would give way to velvet dusk as we swooped around the fairy-lit ice and it would all be terribly, terribly pretty. To my surprise, it worked.