Friday, 16 September 2016

Good times, cheap wine...

The last night of our week away in the shed went off with a bang. The dogs had given up all hope of ever being able to walk again, so the husband had to cycle to the pub with the dogs being towed behind in their dog wagon.  And that is where they stayed for the next two hours.  The shout came up for a bottle of wine, rather than the customary couple of glasses for me and the mother, and this is where it went slightly wrong for me. 

The bottle ordered  was 14% apparently. Now this means absolutely nothing to me.  It's a bit like tog values for duvets - I have no idea if a 10.5 if for summer or winter.  Perhaps if I knew how high the tog could go, I would then be able to work it out for myself.  So 14%?  Is this low, or so high it would render you comatose within ten minutes?  Well, from my point of view, it would appear to be the latter.  Halfway through the main course (delicious, thank you Masons Arms) the effects of the 14% started working through my body, starting at my feet and head, meeting somewhere around the mouth.  Based on the laughter coming from my dining companions, I was being very entertaining (I can't remember saying anything that funny, so I'll have to take their word for it). 

After dinner, there was a half mile walk back through the woods.  I had a torch, but for some reason, the 14% had suggested that instead of looking where I was going, I point it up at the trees. 

'What are you doing?' asked the husband, following me at a snail's pace behind me on his bike.  Well apparently, I was looking for owls.  Let me tell you, it all made complete sense at the time, but in the cold light of day?  Mmm, well, let's just say that it wasn't one of my finer moments.

My legs were feeling the biggest impact of the 14%, and had started working independently of each other as we walked through the woods.  The husband has a very strong torch on his bike, and I do have a vague recollection of looking at my crazy shadows as they jumped erratically from side to side, and him shouting at me to 'Stay on the bloody path'.

I was relieved not to have a hangover yesterday morning, as a four hour drive is not the best thing to endure when your head is doing its own version of the River Dance (with clogs naturally).  We left the shed at the husband's allotted time of 10.00am.  Stopping at Beer to buy fish (or 'stopping at Fish to buy beer' as I said while under the influence of 14% of something) we then headed out of the village towards home.  As we drove up the hill out of Beer, the husband realised that we had forgotten to leave the car park permit at the shed.  It was still sitting in all its isolated glory on the dashboard.  A quick U-turn, and back to the shed to leave the permit before having another attempt at getting home.

As we got nearer home, I started to worry what would greet us.  Would the house still be standing with only daughter number one and son number two in residence while we were away?  Well, it was a very pleasant surprise as I walked through the front door.  I don't know how much of this was down to Lady H who was on duty yesterday with her dusters and brooms, but the house was spotless, and the IRONING BASKET WAS EMPTY!

Oh happy day...
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