Dodgy is a suitable word to describe the way I feel today. My entire body aches, my muscles hurt as if they’ve been subjected to an obscene amount of strenuous exercise and my stomach is having a bloody hard job holding onto the lukewarm tea I guzzled earlier in an attempt to re-hydrate myself.
Zannie and I went out last night for dinner and a few drinks at
But yes, I do agree, I do deserve that hangover.
The pub we went to – aptly named ‘Vodka Wodka’ – was heaving full of young student types and had the best joie de vivre atmosphere. I was excited by it all, some would say childishly so, and was slightly hyper, laughing loudly, making enormous gestures with my hands when I spoke (I did end up spilling a Kir Royale all over Zannie’s boyfriend, Venzo and am still deeply embarrassed) and being a bit of a pest in general. I was a Motormouth Minnie, I spoke a mile a minute and I think, although I can’t be sure, that towards the end I was probably the only one talking and I didn’t even notice.
I came home to a silent house, the parents were asleep upstairs and the cat was stretched out on the sofa, as if he were expecting me. I locked the front door behind me before heading straight for the kitchen, bouncing off the walls a few times on the way. I seem to remember buttering two slices of brown bread, opening a packet of cheese & onion crisps (chips for American readers) and pouring them onto the bread before biting into my crisp sandwich and enjoying the contrasting texture of soft and crispy.
And then I walked away from the kitchen which was speckled with crumbs and smears of butter from my late night cuisine and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. I lay on the bed and dialled FP's number, waking him from his peaceful slumber, although what the conversation entailed, I don’t have a scooby.
I awoke this morning, make-up smudged across my face and a face imprint on the pillow. My stomach lurched, the room spun and I thought, ah here now, if that’s not what you call a great night out then I don’t know what is!