Yesterday, was a day of total and utter excess and I’m feeling a little delicate. Started drinking at 11.30am and didn’t stop until 3am. I’m feeling like someone has kicked seven shades of shit out of me but no headache. I am grateful for that small mercy.
It didn’t start too brilliantly. The gene that people have which allows them to wrap up presents is totally missing from my double helix. Even stuff that is square always manages to look like a blind person with Parkinson’s has been at it with garden shears. So, a job in Threshers or the Chippie is out for me. Then there is sellotape. An item you can only find when you are NOT looking for it. If Sassy hadn’t saved me, the presents would have been secured with gaffer tape and blue tack. Not attractive but practical!
The little ‘Princess’ opened her present, looked at the first one and said, ‘Don’t like that’. The second one, ‘Don’t like that’, but the box of make up was ‘Ok’. While I’m thinking about it, I don’t recall her saying ‘Thank You’ at any point. Maybe it’s just me but I would have been battered sideways for that kind of behaviour.
There were also moments of pure comedy! Ricky and Colin arrived and Ricky proceeded to complain about the flood of refugees that seem to have washed up in Portsmouth. ‘This fucking government are ruining this country, and don’t get me started on the fucking Muslims’.. Without realising it, he was sounding like a party political broadcast of behalf of the BNP.
Made all the funnier as Ricky is an British born Indian Sikh!
Schnee and the ’Girls’ came round and we laughed and drank, drank laughed. I couldn’t for the life of me tell you what we talked about but I’m convinced the world is a better place today because of it. Tom Cruise was the victim of most of our venom, with only Crisp-e to fight his corner.
Sunday afternoons are so boring. For some reason it is still in my head that it’s homework day. The day when the adults slept all afternoon and you just had to sit there waiting for something to happen. TV only had 3 channels and everything that was on was shit, (Songs Of Praise, Eeeesh!) and you weren’t allowed out on your own.
I am now allowed out on my own, but it’s probably best if I don’t.
2 comments:
Hey! It wasn't just Songs of Praise, there was the Golden Shot too, with Bernie the Bolt. We had to play board games on a Sunday, should have been spelt Bored Games.
It is the black cloud day too tho, unless there's a Bank Holiday Monday.
I have that same inability to wrap pressies. I've just tried, they do look like pass-the-parcel after the parcel's been round several times.
Yer right about the slapping. Can't believe none was forthcoming.
You know, Ricky was funnny when you wrote about him here, but last night, with facial expressions and whole body movements, he was feccking hysterical (in the telling that is)
Ah, 'twas a night and a half last night.
If I'm not back from Norwich by late Wednesday, could you please muster a Viking horde and a pack of huskies, and yelling,
'Mush, mush,' boldly go and find me. Ta.
I could possibly rustle up a few Staffordshire Bull Terriers, this IS Pompey after all! Just beware of extra digits and supernumerary nipples. I hear it's a Norfolk speciality!
Ah, Ricky is a legend and I'm sure I did him NO justice!
It was a blinding night!
Topped off by getting Mrs A to swear like a fishwife. Years, we have been working on her.
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