Oooh, dear, I’ve been very, very naughty. I’ve been out partying and destroying goodness only knows how many brain cells, which, frankly, I can’t afford to lose.
On Friday night we took some friends out to down and dingy Bangkok – enough said, I think. And Saturday night we were invited to Burns Night at a local hotel with some Scottish (and other English) friends.
I know that the Scots know how to party, and I was frankly a little bit scared, so I was forewarned. I really did think I was in control; I thought I was fine. ‘Do you like whisky?’ Gordon on my right, asked. ‘I do’ I said, ‘but the problem I have with it is that it so often comes out at the end of the night when you’re resistance is low.’ IT WASN’T LIKE I WASN’T AWARE OF IT.
It wasn’t as though someone sneaked it out in surprise maneuver designed to fool everyone. I KNEW IT WAS COMING. And guess what? My resistance was in my BOOTS. Or it would’ve been if we wore boots in Bangkok, but as it is, we wear sandals, which means my resistance must’ve slipped out between my toes!
The Burns Night celebrations were just fab: my first time eating haggis (yummy), lovely poetry from Robbie Burns and bagpipes but then the white wine ran out. So husband, being helpful, brought me a gin and tonic: my favourite tipple. Husband went home (perhaps he took my willpower with him?) and my friend C and I moved down the after party in the basement pub, where I continued with gin, as I really don’t think mixing your poisons is a good idea.
So when did the whisky appear? I don’t know, but damn, it was fine malt, even out of a plastic cup. I crept (staggered) home at 5am (with C). I did wake her up when I got out of the cab, but she confirmed today that she has no memory of the drive home, so we can only assume she went straight back to sleep. I slept for the whole of Sunday, and Sunday night and still feel a bit hungover today. Roll on tomorrow – oh, and never again.