Monday, 1 May 2017

Perfect day...

Apologies for the luck of chuckles yesterday, but as the blog unfolds today, you'll understand...

On Saturday, I was part of a happy band of travelers heading up to London on a mini bus. The band was made up of the Mother, Miss R, Mrs Jangles, my cousin Mrs B and myself.  A plan had been hatched several months ago to see Alfie Boe and Katherine Jenkins in Carousel.  Now I didn't know much about this musical, other than the fact that I would be needing a box of tissues for the last ten minutes, so I had stuck on waterproof mascara in preparation of the impending deluge, and was looking forward to looking like I'd been through a wringer by the time we went for a posh dinner after the show.

The first thing we did once we arrived in London was to eat.  Thinking ahead that there was another meal in approximately four hours and forty five minutes, I went for a small bowl of pasta and a lime and soda.  The others went for for Malbec and Prosecco.  There was possibly some food involved but it was difficult to see through the amount of empty bottles on the table.  With that finished, we went in to see the show.

Alfie Boe was sick.  Not in the young person way of being brilliant, but really sick with an ear infection.  I can imagine that this wouldn't be brilliant if you were spinning on a carousel for the night, so his understudy took the role for the night.  Will Barrett was absolutely sublime, and to be honest, I couldn't have seen anyone play the role of Billy Bigelow any better.

Falling out of the theatre (two more bottles had been imbibed by then) the happy band then toddled off to a bar and then onto another restaurant for yet more food and drink.

Thinking about the effect that all this food would have on the tightness of my waistband, I decided to have two starters.  Sticking with a watery theme, I had a prawn cocktail, followed by mussels.  Yes again, there were more bottles on the table than knives and forks, but I was quite happy sticking to my water, as I planned to drive home. The husband had promised me a lovely Sunday and I didn't want to miss that did I?

Fast forward four hours, and I am awake in my bed with a stomach doing a passable impression of Mount Vesuvius just prior to the engulfing of Pompeii.  The next fourteen hours were spent with the two ends of my body stuck down various receptacles around the house.  Have you ever tried doing this quietly so as not to wake up anyone else?  Fours hours in, I didn't care if I woke up the whole of Oxfordshire such was the violence of my condition by then.

So I am blaming the mussels.  In particular,  the last one which I noticed had a broken shell (just as the contents headed down my gullet).  Thinking about all this today, I have made the following conclusions:

I am very relieved that I didn't stay at Miss R's house on Saturday night for obvious reasons.

I am so glad that I didn't drink.  All of that AND a hangover?  It doesn't bear thinking about.

I would have had a massive blow out meal, instead of two starters if I'd known what was on the agenda.

But today is another day, and yesterday's 'lovely day' was to be saved for today according to the husband.  I asked him last night what he had planned.  Well apparently, it's a day together digging out the allotment in readiness for the planting next week. I must say that his interpretation of a lovely day is far different to mine.  

Mind you, after yesterday, any day would be an improvement...

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