About Me

My photo
Book out now on amazon! Buy, read, enjoy, tell your friends, buy a spare copy.

Tuesday 6 May 2008

Drunk

I don’t behave badly when I am drunk. It usually follows three stages and then it’s all over. Stage one: drink a lot less than everyone else but get a lot drunker due to being a lightweight. Stage two: Invite everyone back to mine for a party. Stage three: realise I don’t actually want to hold a party and so run away and go home to bed. Stage three usually occurs around 8pm. However it is not so much the nights out that are doing me in but the hangovers, which aren’t getting worse as I get older but are getting more bizarre.

Back in January I decided to meet with some friends for a couple of lovely drinks after work on a Friday. The night ended with me waking up at 5am wearing my bra, pants and a cardigan (not one I had gone out in) on my bathroom floor (due to drunkenness, Beth hadn’t interfered with me or anything). I had bruised my cheekbone from falling asleep with my head down the toilet and was not feeling very well at all. So I thought the best thing to do would be to go to a small child’s birthday party. A small child’s birthday party which involved me making two large salads and picking my Nan up on route. The ingredients of the salad were residing in Sainsbury’s and her birthday present was as yet unbought. After retching my way round the supermarket I admitted defeat and called my Dad and was chauffeured to the party. Where I slumped in the corner. Briefly rousing myself to drink 18 pints of water.

Last Saturday I went out for St Patrick’s Day. Knowing my limitations I didn’t start until 4 and paced myself very well throughout the evening. I got the last train home and was tucked up in bed by 2. What a good girl I am. Until I woke up the next morning (at 8:30- brilliant) with a strong desire for a hash brown. Now I am used to weird hangover cravings. I normally find that a pint of diet coke and a bag of chipsticks sorts me out right nice but the heart wants what it wants and in this case it wanted a hash brown. And so I found myself sitting with some very strange people in McDonalds at 9am on Sunday morning. Do people really breakfast in McDonalds? There were whole families sitting there eating their breakfast out of paper bags. A friend of mine went to McDonalds for the first time when she was 96, she felt she should. She rang me when she got back to confide “well it was quite tasty, I had a fillet o fish. But they gave it to me in an egg box!”. As has previously been established I am a bit of a snob but if someone was going to make me get up to breakfast with them I would like it if I actually got cutlery.

But one hash brown later I felt much better and decided to round off my Sunday chav party with a trip to Primark. I had heard a rumour that they had Cath Kidson esq bedwear. That is debatable. Perhaps the person who designed it had once heard of Cath Kidson or sat next to her on a bus but it was more in the style of “horrid”. But as I was wandering round something caught my eye. Now I am used to insane hungover shopping, coming home from the supermarket with your week’s shopping to find that you have to create meals out of 50 pre-cooked cocktail sausages and a tub of chocolate nesquik but never before has this infliction strayed in to the world of clothes. As a result I am now the proud owner of a navy velour “leisure suit”. Words can not express how foul this is. It comes complete with a little anchor on the zip and an enormous elastic waist band. Luckily it was only £8. I spent the afternoon amusing myself by wearing it around the house. Now I know I live on my own so am very good at amusing myself but surely 3 hours laughing at myself in a tracksuit borders on needing to be hospitalised? In my defence I had decided to wear it J-Lo style so had done it up round my boobs. As I was pottering around there was a knock on the door and I was forced to fling myself to the ground. I simply could not have been seen in this thing. Put it this way, if there was a fire I would stop to change. But it’s now 4-30 on a Tuesday and I am looking forward to going home to my velour suit. Perhaps the people in Maccas were in on something. Buy your breakfasts in McDonalds and your clothes in Primark. Not only will they stretch to fit but you won’t want to be seen in public anyway, leaving you free to eat as much as you like.

No comments: