This is day two of a colossal, World-beating, all-time, record-breaking hangover. Granted, it’s not as fierce as day one, but I do not feel great.
We had a visitor on Wednesday.
Every so often, rather than go away for business, we have visiting business. It’s nice to have people we work with and get on with visit us at home. It means we don’t have to go anywhere or do anything, and, while we do talk business, it’s also a time to relax a little and catch up on more social aspects of our relationships.
This was pretty social, or at least it was for me.
To be fair, no one else drank too much or behaved badly, but they took considerable pleasure in my antics.
I’ve been a grown-up for a bloody long time, mostly by necessity, and, as you know, I’m a pretty complex personality, and, what with the bi-polar and everything I have to be careful to stay sane and sensible, except...
Except, I’m getting... well... older, and I have fewer people to be responsible to. I’ve got no one left to embarrass, like parents and siblings, and no one left to scowl at me when I cross a line, especially as the husband finds me more lovable the less inhibited I become. I also have no one left at home to be responsible for, as the kids have left, and I don’t have to make sure I’m sane and sensible in case one of them needs to be looked after.
So, on Wednesday night, the three of us we went out for dinner, and ordered a bottle of wine.
The husband doesn’t drink at all, and our guest drinks very little, so it was up to me to enjoy the wine. The husband and the guest, are also both gentlemen, so my glass was topped up pretty regularly without me ever noticing it.
We did good business, and we talked and laughed, and we talked and laughed some more, and I drank... and I drank. Then we went home, and we talked some more, and the husband poured me another glass of wine, and we sat up late. There was quite a bit of business to talk about, and we talked writing, too, and jobs and people. I might have had a little more to drink... I just might, because the husband is never quite sure when to stop pouring.
We went to bed very late, so late, in fact that when I woke up at 8-30 to make sure that someone was up to give our visitor breakfast, I was still... well... drunk. I thought I might feel better if I showered, but I didn’t, so I put on my shades, but still didn’t feel good, so, after a couple of hours I got the husband up and went back to bed.
When I staggered into the hairdressers at three o’clock, they all thought I was hilarious with my puffy eyes and my distinctly lacklustre demeanour, and the hairdresser and the hairdresser’s apprentice took the mickey mercilessly for the couple of hours I was in the chair.
So, there you have it. I am hilarious drunk and I am hilarious hungover, but you’ll have to take my word for it, because, honest to goodness, I’m going to ration my boozing from now on... I really am getting far too old for this... far, far too old.