I am not the best alcohol drinker, and I’m the first to admit it. The combination of my medication, and the fact that I am clearly still sixteen and don’t drink on school nights, preferring to binge drink on the weekends, means me + alcohol do not mix well. Yet I still drink it. This is OK in moderation, but this weekend has left me dying. Quite literally.
On Friday night, I went out for a lovely dinner. You think this would be enough, but between the pair of us we definitely drank two glasses of wine, two double vodkas, one whole bottle of wine, one cocktail and one jager bomb, more spirits, and in my case, three glasses of water as my teeth felt like someone had pritt sticked felt to them. I think that’s it. It reads like George Best’s Christmas list, doesn’t it? And it was my mistake, knowing full well I was due a night out the next night, with the circle of love, to herald Halloween.
Saturday dawned. Far too quickly for my liking. I tried to get out of bed to go to the loo, but this was clearly far too experienced for my skill set, and I had to lie down for another hour. By the time i was supposed to pick up my chum, i had perked up and danced round my bedroom to Stevie Wonder in my new Russian hat and underwear, but was nowhere near dressed, packing or remotely fresh looking. The kitten then ate one of my fake lashes which sent me into a downward spiral. Found new pack, in box, unattacked by kitten. All was well.
The drive to London was filled with hilarious delirium, with Chop informing me the satnav instructions “go left in 200 yards. Not that left. I think it’s going to be a big left, not a little left…” and “TWICKENHAM? Tink the sat nav says turn around and go and find some buff rugby men!!!” OK, so normally I would have indulged the ‘satnav’ (not Chop on a man hunt, obviously!) but the idea of a sweaty rugby boy actually made me need to throw up. This was not good. Got to Rows and was immediately plied with tea ( i heart this girl immensely) and popped some pro plus like smarties, as you do. Felt better. Had drink. I would like to add at this point I’m not the only one with this tendency, as Row had also been out the night before, “i was chatting to this man, I thought i recognised him. Turned out it was Johnny Borell” (this sort of stuff NEVER happens to me), so between us we looked like the living dead. Good night for it.
There was absolutely no sympathy from the hardened drinker in the gang, who was disappointed we had been out and were ruined, and was having none of it. Vodka was splashed around like water, and we were ready.
Cue Camden, and cocktails. I had a couple of mojitos, and felt soberish and ready to go home. I also felt seriously bad for ditching my chum, who had been looking forward to the session, so I had one last cocktail for the road.
And here lies my lesson: READ THE DESCRIPTION WHEN BUYING A COCKTAIL. I chose one that sounded nice, but upon reflection was a variety of different spirits, on ice. No mixer, the only thing to water it down was a dash of lemon juice. Which, from experience, doesn’t work. So that was me, done in. The part of the bar we were drinking in was up two floors, and apparently I had massive difficulty getting down the stair again. My bad.
We got home, ate a whole bag of hash browns and a packed of stuffed pasta (we are after al, classy to the end, no kebabs for me and my ladies) and passed out on the sofa. I woke up, and remembered to change the blackberry to the right time. This was my next problem. Apparently, the blackberry is far too clever for me, as it changes the time when the clocks go back all by itself. So all of Sunday i didn’t have a flippin’ clue what the time was, so hungover and confused became my middle names. The drive home felt like forever, and I flopped into bed, fully clothed, and slept for 4 hours. Which is actually more than I sleep at night, so at least there was one success! I then watched the east enders omnibus, and as bad things always happen in threes (neat alcohol cocktail, kitten eating lashes being one and two) I MISSED BON JOVI ON THE XFACTOR. So this morning, my heart hurts. I missed the fluffy-haired love of my life, to sob at eastenders. FML, and thank god for I player.