Feeling pretty knackered after the weekend; yesterday was almost a
complete wash-out as I accidentally drank too much on Saturday night.
It was our next door neighbour’s wedding celebration party (not the
reception – she was married several weeks ago in Sweden, and this was
the party for the folks round here). I’d promised we’d go, but at the
last minute, J pulled out, so I had to go by myself. I didn’t know
anyone there except the hostess, so I was feeling decidedly nervous;
add that to the fact that we were standing, there was no way to put
your drinks down, and someone was always topping up your glass, I don’t
actually know how much I drank. I was worried that I’d made a bit of
an idiot of myself, but J says I didn’t seem at all drunk when I got
home – until I sat down and stared into space for a full half hour,
anyway! I felt so silly for having done that – OK, I wasn’t horribly
drunk, but far more than I’d normally drink at such an event, and I know better than to
allow someone to top up a glass that isn’t empty yet. Oh, well, I
guess we all need a reminder from time to time! So I felt sicky and
fragile all Sunday morning, and just tired and slow after that.
And then in the evening, I went to London with friends to see a gig –
we’d had the tickets for a couple ofmonths, and J had already pulled
out, and I felt that I couldn’t. Besides, I *do* like the artist (Ani
diFranco). I’d forgotten, though, how much I hate the way live music
events work. Doors at 7, support scheduled to start at 7:30, but it’s
most likely going to be 8:00; the support is probably dreadful, but if
the support is any good you can’t hear it anyway, because everyone’s
talking and they only want to see the main act; support goes away and
there is at least another half hour wait before the main act arrives.
It’s 9pm by this time, I’m bored, my back and shoulders are killing me
(because it hurts to stand still too long – walking around, I’d have
been fine) and I’m paranoid that someone’s going to lift my wallet out
of my back pocket (because London scares me). The act itself is superb – I love her music and her stage presence is awesome – but by the time we’re back in the car, it’s 11pm, I’d normally
have been in bed an hour, and we still have to get home. (Fortunately,
I’m not driving).
I was in bed by half 12 – which is late for me, but hardly anything for
some of you night birds, I know! – and slept well until I was woken by
the sound of a retching dog at half five. Poor Woody was sick twice
(on the washable dog mat – phew!) and looked very sorry for himself
when he was done. I think we are seeing the effects of a scavenging
lifestyle on this dog – it’s not so much what he eats, as what he
drinks (bit like me really). In the garden, anything is fair game –
the pond, weird little puddles, the water that soaks the labels off the
beer bottles for recycling. Apparently, he found a plastic container
with its own ‘really yucky’ little green ecosystem yesterday, and got a
good few mouthfuls inside himself before J got him to stop.
So all in all, I’m up, showered, dressed, breakfasted and I’ve emptied
the dishwasher. I should have taken the dogs for a walk an hour and a
half ago, but haven’t made it that far yet. I think I might have
another cup of coffee whilst I think about it all.