Pure horror

It was a weekend of extreme highs and lows. I went out on Friday night for book group. Accidentally drank quite a lot of wine. I blame the hot weather – I went for a quick drink after work with new colleagues, where I enjoyed a couple of summery glasses of white wine, and then headed to the restaurant for book group. When I got there, a bottle of red was already open – when in Rome, right? So, much glorious discussion with food and wine. A lovely evening, marred only by the knowledge that I had to be up and out very early on the Saturday as the builders were starting work on the flat at 8am. That’s 8am. On a Saturday. Anyway, managed to get up and out, and went to Islington to get my hair done. This was the high point. The Italian colourist, Gabriele (a bloke), was lighting fast, and barely spoke to me at all, which is just how I like it at the hairdressers. I haven’t come in for inane chat – just do my hair, please, then charge me an exorbitant fee. That’s how it should be. So, my hair looks good, and I am very happy with it. Then I had a party to go to on Saturday eve…

I went to the party, which was miles away from where I live, in the birthday girl’s house. I had intended to stay a couple of hours, and leave in time to get the tube and thus get home around midnight. Well, that didn’t quite happen. I was drinking vodka all night, in the mistaken belief that I was being ‘good’ by not mixing my drinks. So there I was again, accidentally quaffing vast quantities of vodka, and though I didn’t feel drunk, oh, I most certainly was.

So drunk in fact that I stayed until 2.30am - then attempted to get the night bus home, or rather, a series of night buses. Pure horror. (the low point is coming)... I got one bus to Piccadilly Circus, and then another to Trafalgar Sq, thinking I would get the 453 all the way home. This is when it all starts to fall apart. Instead, I got on the No. 381, because the 453 just wasn't coming and I had been waiting about 45mins and was FREEZING, and I thought to myself, I'll change to the No. 47 at Surrey Quays. However, I was VERY drunk. In my head, at some point in the journey, I convinced myself I was on the 453, which terminates at Deptford Bridge, and therefore it would be safe to fall asleep. I duly fell asleep, and then woke up where the bus terminated: 4.30am, Peckham bus station. (this is the unmistakable low point). Oh my god. This dilemma galvanized me into action, and sobered me up a treat. Finally got a cab back to my place, and got in at 5am…and then had to get up at 7.30 because the builders were coming at 8am (again). I felt like death. The builders started work and I tried to stay in my room and lie very still, but then they started drilling and hammering. Had to drag myself up and out and go forage for food and sustenance. I was very queasy, but managed to get myself a full English brekkie at a greasy spoon not too far away, and then I felt a bit better. But only a bit.

I’m still pretty knackered today, but certainly feel more human. Obviously, I’m never drinking again. Obviously.