Lost weekend in a household in Lancashire

... single insomnia in a double room.

Nah, I'm exaggerating slightly. I was definitely in Lancashire, that horizontal hail to the left of you and rainbow to the right is a dead giveaway. Parts of the weekend were a bit lost, it's true, but they were also the most fun, as they were spent in the company of A Free Man in Preston and Girl on a Train, drinking Blonde Witch beer for many, many hours and talking life, art, blogging, music, and, I fear (at least on my part), bollocks. It was splendid.

I did do a fair bit of waking up in the night, but mainly to drink more water and go to the loo and then again to repeat the same. My rule of thumb is drink half a pint of water for every pint consumed over the evening, but to manage that in one go on Saturday would have required some sort of intravenous contraption. I was in reasonably good shape on Sunday, considering (in a 'managed Sudoku over breakfast while defending self against so what time did you call that and where have all the gherkins gone' accusations style).

Sunday night I argued politics with my uncle J over red wine and Chinese food. It's one of those comforting traditions. He shouts more but I win and he knows I win even though he shouts more. I'm dead fond of my uncle J *and* he works for a fairy light company so I return south laden with sparkly ex-samples that I can use to make friends and influence people of the kitsch-appreciating classes.

One of the same, my gay friend A, was the ONLY PERSON to notice I've had my hair cut. 'Well', he said, it does look like it was cut in Lancashire'. Fuck off, I said, but I was still pleased he noticed. M said 'has something happened to your eyes?'. They should teach boys this stuff in school, they really should.

joella