Happy yesterday is over. Happy to start a fifth fag-less day. Happy we had a great Friday night. I know this from the pictures in my inbox. Memory somewhat fogged in a champagne mist. Luckily didn't drink as much as I was served having lost my ability to hold a glass around 9.30pm. What a waste of good champagne: on my skirt, the carpet, the sofa and the designer's trousers. Vague memory of being told to close my mouth for pictures – thought it was due to my too-wide grin. Discovered it was to deal with my chronic verbal diarrhoea.
Relieved drunken antics didn't extend to that booze Britain fave-past-time of breast baring. Only just. Much to the Mr Smut's disappointment. Am off the bubbles. For a while. Don't like the delusions. Such as believing bullying the entire party into Mexican waving, repeatedly, is a good idea. A bubble-fuelled tradition I started at the black-tie wedding of the Designer. Well it all smacked a tad too much of a smart do.
Sitting in the Forensic's house, opposite a field of cows, sipping champagne, overlooking the swimming pool, I pondered how far we've all come. The proof of humble beginnings in the birthday photo album. More pictures have arrived in my inbox of a girly gang seaside trip to visit the Chef. They didn't make it into the album as I deleted them the first time they arrived. Have seen saner-looking groups of mass murderers. Oh but didn't we have a laugh. Except for the Forensic One. Though to be fair, being 5 foot 1 and 7 months pregnant with monster-sized twins hardly makes for a chirpy outlook.
Speaking of which, Mr Smut, why have you not married her yet? It's worth it for the days off from the baby business: at least one night for the hen celebrations. A honeymoon must be at least two. She may not like you much this week but that's hardly the point.So all in all I was a bit of a disgrace on Friday. My behaviour being the main reason the birthday girl went to bed.
Need to draw on the positive: I may have been lashed but I didn't smoke. And the pix do look rather jolly.
To my sister-in-law, SheShe, I am forever in your debt for the buckets of sweet-tea you served whilst catering and caring for my off-spring as I was incapacitated in hangover hell. To Supersis thanks for the copious carbs at tea-time. Just the ticket to reconnect head to body. Both kindnesses will be re-paid.
To my niece the Techno Whizzkid. Thanks for the links. Point taken. Myspace is dull and needs jazzing up with techno script.
Finally, though in danger of the old pot and kettle business, He-who-must-be-adored wasn't looking good yesterday.