2. OH and I went out last night to a popular local waterfront boozer. It was an impromptu night out; we were meeting some new friends and we had childcare sorted for the evening. Despite ( as regular readers will know) being a fairly accomplished drinker, I became very drunk, very quickly. Luckily, our new comrades were the social sort too and followed suit and were great fun. You know you've made a proper new girlfriend when she puts your shoes on for you in a funky wine bar. And doesn't even ask why you took them off in the first place. She just does it.
2. This afternoon I realised why I had taken my shoes off. It's a sorry rule that women will never learn. You DO.NOT wear new shoes on a night out. It's a ridiculous concept. You should wear them in the garden for a week leading up to your desired event. Don't be a fool. My new shoes have a spot of blood, around the size of a 10p, on the left little toe area.
3. My little toe is sore. I'll explain the state of it. Take a chipolata sausage. Squash it together with your hands. Strip the sausage skin off. That's now my little toe.
4. Last nights shenanigans replaced an initial romantic night on for OH and I. I had purchased 2x fillet steaks, some fresh cut chips, rocket and posh stalky tomatoes from Marksy's. We ate them tonight. You really do get what you pay for. I don't use M&S much but I am consistently surprised at the excellent standard. We also have a nice bottle of Chianti to go with it but that can kiss my nauseous arse at the moment.
5. In one of the bars last night, I was standing in the patio garden with my new pal. We were chewing the fat about something when all of a sudden, the whole (packed) beer garden's occupants all surged forward towards us. There were a few "Ooophhhs" and "Woahhhh!". A woman had fallen over. She had misjudged the distance of a step and fell into the crowd. It would have been funny- but she did take quite a tumble and was wearing a short dress; compromising her dignity somewhat. However, the smokers of Bowman's were good sorts. They promptly enquired about her general welfare and picked her up. She was fine. The females amongst us quizzed her (perhaps a little sadistically) about the cause of the fall. Yep. New shoes.
6. The kids didn't arrive home from the grandparents today until 3pm. This provided us ample hangover slots. After vomiting several times this morning (the crying episode came after No2), I decided that I should shower to rinse off my hangover. That didn't work. I brushed my teeth again, but the plastic stick rummaging around in my mouth made me gag. I glugged a carton of orange juice; obviously ignorant to the fact that 12oranges swilling around in a scathed empty Hoover bag of a stomach was not wise. That didn't work. I had a bit more sleep. My OH sensed my need to be left completely alone and proceeded to keep pulling my pants down or poking my arm. He then, clearly in a much more chipper state than my own self, went downstairs to fix himself some breakfast. He returned back upstairs with a bowl of something and got back into bed next to me. I wouldn't have minded, but for some reason known only to God, he had boiled 3 eggs, mashed them up in a bowl, and brought them upstairs to eat. I was, naturally sick again. I don't know why he chose this peculiar nature of breakfast.
7. I started to feel a little better by 2pm. OH went and fetched a McDonalds for us. We actually ate it, very slowly and delicately, in bed. It was really fun. It's strange that for a clean-freak like me, you don't actually give a shit about crumbs in the bed when you feel so gut-wrenchingly ill.
8. My advice to other party-goers. An excellent boost to fitness from a rotten Hangover is a cold, icey, fizzy drink. I chose Fanta. It really hit the spot. Certainly much better that the cloudy glass of yesterday-water that I had been gingerly sipping since waking up.