Sunday, December 19, 2004

 

Binge drunk

So yesterday was the most popular day for work Christmas events and police and hospitals were reported to be gearing up for trouble. Sitting on the bus on the way to the company lunch, my boss and I chatted idly about this, little suspecting that both of us would, at different points in the evening, be staggering homeward binge drunk.

Waking up this morning to find my hair spiked with beer and my clothes in a trail to the bed I didn't feel particularly happy to be part of a great English tradition.

Things rapidly got worse as A began Stage 2 of the marathon 'condiment cook in' - this year's home-made Christmas gifts. Turned out there is nothing quite like the smell of simmering cider vinegar for keeping me at retch-point. It's similar to very bad sock smell. For the first ten minutes that I was aware of it, I checked the laundry basket and cupboards for rogue washing and even toyed with the idea that the cat had concealed another rat in the room somewhere. No, just festive fare in preparation.

Thus began a day of lying immobile watching West Wing and whining. Terrible thing to be deprived of the right to deserve sympathy when feeling poorly.

Poor old me.

Still, M is out buying fish and chips and I think that'll be just the right amount of fatty, salty food to buck me up no end. Perhaps I shouldn't have said yes to salt and vinegar though.

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