...strung-out and shaky today. It always seems like a great idea to drink your way out of a hangover. Until the following morning. Usually 4 o'clock the following morning, when your punished body decides to wake you up for a few hours, and remind you that there is a lesson to be taken from this. I can feel stale booze in my hands. Grim.
Anyway, enough griping. The 'heroes' party was a chortle. I was given tequila by the devil. I fell in love with a girl on crutches (who I did actually speak to this time). I observed that, in general, the menfolk were showing more skin than the females - but you can't have everything.
I spent a lot of time talking to a big beardy chap from Oxford, who I don't think I've mentioned on here before. Now, The Ox is a big fan of Nooma's (who isn't ?). He spent a good deal of time saying to me "If I was fifteen years younger, oooh...", and rhapsodising about her behind. Now, Nooma is presently concerned about the augmentation of what she refers to as her "beer ass"; but clearly The Ox believes that this is a good thing - declaring that some cultures would deify her for sporting such a pulchritudinous peach. I am inclined to agree.
He then informed me that I must make it my mission to win her heart. I told her that she was unlikely to rock the boat and ditch her "boring Christian poseur boyfriend" - which was perhaps revealing too many of my cards. And even if she did, there was no shortage of potential suitors. The Ox countered that I was eminently the most suitable, however. This is something of a setback, as I have been attempting to discourage the futile Quest For Nooma in my own head of late.
The gathering climaxed for me in a food fight between Nooma and myself. No points for spotting the pigtail-pulling here. I threw a piece of red pepper at her, she threw two back at me, it escalated into her dropping lots of pieces down my (brand new) shirt, and rubbing them in. So I emptied an entire bowl of seeds and nuts over her head. The consequent mess caused the tenants to have something of a flip, as the house was being assessed the following day to ascertain how much of their deposit they could get back when they move out this week. I drunkenly declined to help, saying that if they were foolish enough to have a party the day before the house was examined, then it was their own lookout. Plus I wasn't sorry, as it had been fun.
You'll be pleased to hear that I was sufficiently rueful about being such a twat yesterday that I took them a box of chocolates first thing in the morning, and offered to help tidy up. They asked if I had been responsible for the decimation of the birthday cake too. I replied truthfully that I had known nothing about it. I saw Nooma later in the day, and she fessed up to me that the birthday cake debacle had been entirely her fault. She had spotted the chocolatey treat and, being too drunk to bother looking for a knife, proceeded to 'slice' the cake with a breadstick.
