Sat 11.00 am Claire's hen night, Claire's parent's gracious home. Lovely cava. Lovely ladies. Lovely garden. Lovely weather. Manicures facials reflexology massages. Lovely food. More cava. Karaoke. California Zinfandel. More karaoke. Lots of cigarettes. More California Zinfandel. More karaoke. Vodka shots. Two lies and a truth. Stagger onto sofa and know nothing more...
Awake at 9.45 am. Lo! Feel fine, right as rain... hello trees, hello clouds, hello sky! Up and at 'em. La la la, not hungover at all, it's marvellous...
... but I know from experience, it is a false dawn. All the time, the hangover is lurking above your head like the Sword of Damocles, waiting for its moment to descend. 2.00 pm is the usual time. It's 1.30 pm now...
PS: Thanks Claire! It was faaaaabulous! You're the hostess with the mostest! Can't wait to see your dress
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1 day ago
5 comments:
Ugh, I hate stealth hangovers. Sounds like a fun time though, so it's got to be worth it.
Absolutely worth it Billy. Retiring to my boudoir to languish seems to have helped.
'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge
For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart---
It really goes.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
(PLATH).
That's right, Rehan. It was overindulgence in Zinfandel that made Plath such a grouch.
Ooh, how wonderful. My word verification is "pmpcfck". I don't know whether that's a very rude word, or a Bavarian cake.
Rehan, this is the kind of lateral thinking that is all too rare amongst students of literature these days - clearly, Lady Lazarus was inspired by an evening on the sauce. Though there was no rising at all yesterday, (let alone eating men like air).
Tim, you're making it up.
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