Wine is weepy making

After such a good day on Wednesday (a good day is defined by actually writing, as opposed to thinking, playing Bejeweled, playing Tetris, answering emails, reading and in which numbers of words increase) I was really hoping that I wouldn’t get a last minute ticket to the International Women’s Day Lunch which was being organized by the Australian and New Zealand Women’s Group here in Bangkok.

But a ticket came up so I had to go along. I had to drink all that champagne; and then all the wine. It would have been rude to refuse.

I think International Women’s Day is a good thing to celebrate. I like women. And I like the camaraderie that we women give to each other. The novel race is a great demonstration of that: when we confess to being wobbly, doubting and down in the dumps, we get left comments by fellow racers, reassuring us, cheering us on and generally being lovely.

It’s true that women are also among the nastiest of enemies, and two faced and positively bitchy, but I’m not going to dwell on that because I’m not in that kind of mood.

I think wine makes me weepy. Or maybe voluminous quanities of wine makes me weepy. Gin on the other hand doesn’t appear to do this, which is odd, given its reputation as mother’s ruin and a depressive. I'm going to try to remember wine is bad...

So today, feeling a little hungover, instead of writing I had date with a big packet of Maltesers and The Queen at the cinema.