Too much!

I’m just a little bit squiffy this morning. I had maybe a pint more than I should have in the pub last night during the quiz and while I am a long way from having a hangover (and trust me when I say that over the years I have suffered them all from simple headaches to Storm Force Four hangovers during which your body actively tries to turn itself inside out), I would prefer not to have the slightly jellied feeling in my giblets that minor over indulgence brings.

Furtle of course zonked out completely, having first grabbed and hugged the duvet in her unnaturally strong hands. There was enough left to cover my legs, but I had to use the blanket across my shoulders. Luckily my Big Bloo Blanky is toasty warm (it is a PVP blanket, complete with a picture of Skull the Troll eating snowflakes) so as inconveniences go, the lack of duvet was minor.

I am entirely unsure how or why the alcohol consumption rose so dramatically. Maybe it was because we were losing the quiz for once (I mean, who on earth knows Lady Chatterley’s first name?¹). I knew it was going to go at least partially wrong when Furtle arrived from getting a round in with a full bottle of plonk for her and smokingboot on the grounds that it was actually cheaper per fluid ounce than continuing to but the large glasses at £4.60 each (!) It nearly went completely pear-shaped at around 11.25 when Boot stood up dramatically and nearly bought another bottle before being dragged back into her seat. This didn’t stop another pint of San Miguel from appearing in front of me, though. I didn’t expect that, having just had a half to finish off the night…

A good night all in all, but with some earnest and alcohol-fuelled discussion at the end of it which put a slight tarnish on proceedings.

Ah, the coffee kicks in; I feel just a little less squiffy now. That’s better.


¹Actually, I do now. But I didn’t then.

Too much!

I’m just a little bit squiffy this morning. I had maybe a pint more than I should have in the pub last night during the quiz and while I am a long way from having a hangover (and trust me when I say that over the years I have suffered them all from simple headaches to Storm Force Four hangovers during which your body actively tries to turn itself inside out), I would prefer not to have the slightly jellied feeling in my giblets that minor over indulgence brings.

Furtle of course zonked out completely, having first grabbed and hugged the duvet in her unnaturally strong hands. There was enough left to cover my legs, but I had to use the blanket across my shoulders. Luckily my Big Bloo Blanky is toasty warm (it is a PVP blanket, complete with a picture of Skull the Troll eating snowflakes) so as inconveniences go, the lack of duvet was minor.

I am entirely unsure how or why the alcohol consumption rose so dramatically. Maybe it was because we were losing the quiz for once (I mean, who on earth knows Lady Chatterley’s first name?¹). I knew it was going to go at least partially wrong when Furtle arrived from getting a round in with a full bottle of plonk for her and smokingboot on the grounds that it was actually cheaper per fluid ounce than continuing to but the large glasses at £4.60 each (!) It nearly went completely pear-shaped at around 11.25 when Boot stood up dramatically and nearly bought another bottle before being dragged back into her seat. This didn’t stop another pint of San Miguel from appearing in front of me, though. I didn’t expect that, having just had a half to finish off the night…

A good night all in all, but with some earnest and alcohol-fuelled discussion at the end of it which put a slight tarnish on proceedings.

Ah, the coffee kicks in; I feel just a little less squiffy now. That’s better.


¹Actually, I do now. But I didn’t then.