The stopping train to Hangover Central

I don't have a good record with Burns Night. The first one I went to was in my first year at university. I was just getting it together with my Significant Ex and I got so pissed that he had to a) stop me lying down and going to sleep in the middle of Whewell's Court b) take my contact lenses out for me and c) hold my hair back while I chucked up in the sink. I saw him down the end of a long tunnel and said 'I love you'. It must have been a terrifying experience for him.

The one on Friday wasn't quite that bad - I got myself home, kept the tatties and neeps down just fine, took my own contact lenses out and (probably) did nothing too much worse than waking everyone up by singing happy birthday to myself in the early hours - but on the whole I think I should not be allowed more than one whisky at a time. It's a fine and noble drink, but too much of it and it hollows out your soul while you sleep and leaves you in no fit state to cope with your birthday leg wax appointment.

So that part of the day was quite unpleasant, but I pulled it together valiantly for a lovely birthday walk, hair-of-the-dog at the King's Arms (sitting outside! In January!) and brief art interlude at MOA, where guest of honour was an enormously pregnant ex-housemate S. She was an installation in her own right.

Brief interlude for a bit of whimpering under the duvet (no, that's not a euphemism) and then we were off for dinner at the lovely R's with other guests of honour including Ms Y and plumbing S. Home late for merlot nightcaps and the Ballad of Lucy Jordan. Yes, I am that old, and today I felt it. However, I have Aveda body products and Benefit lip products to go with my MAC eye products, so at least I am sparkly and smell nice. I also have a Gerber multitool with auto-recoil needlenose pliers and a milk bottle full of worm urine, so don't mess with me.

joella