The nurse...

Oh dear God...

I don't know who will be more surprised this morning.  Me, purely for the fact that I am able to string a sentence together, or your good self after reading about what we all got up to last night.

I don't think I mentioned it in any of this week's ramblings, but Miss R had her annual Halloween and Fireworks party last night.  At this point, all you probably need to know is the following piece of information...

I DID NOT DRIVE

Now everything else will make perfect sense.  

I love a fancy dress, and much preparation and thought goes into my costume each year.  Last year, I managed to coerce my lot into going as The Addams Family, and much to everyone's surprise, I went as Uncle Fester, complete with bald head and cassock.  It was very funny, but glamorous and sexy, I most certainly wasn't.  This year, I decided to go as a dead bride, which involved ethereal grey clothing, chains and a veil.   At the last minute, I remembered the dried roses which had been languishing in the lounge for the last six months (this wasn't intentional, they were merely behind the curtain and had been forgotten), and grabbing these (every bride needs a bouquet) we drove over to Miss R's.

Her house looked fantastic, and the food was wonderful, and I spent a most pleasant six hours quaffing the bubbly stuff, and saying, in a rather reedy 1950's voice, 'Have you seen my husband?'  The trouble started when one of Miss R's friends, who was dressed as a rather bloody nurse (put it this way, she wouldn't be allowed to come any where near me with a bed pan) started going around the witches, werewolves, skeletons and vampires, encouraging them to 'take their medicine'.  

The first bottle which went round was one of Jagermeister.  My kids talk about this a lot, always with a whiff of fear, but was I scared?  Of course not, and I glugged back my 5 ml as instructed.  It was bloody disgusting, and I had a strange desire to shout 'Covonia!' at the top of my voice once it was swallowed.  Having exhausted that on her patients, she then started with a bottle of Limoncello, found tucked away at the back of a cupboard.  By this time, I had lost all sense of propriety, and I necked another shot of that.  I vaguely remember saying to someone (possibly the 62 year old man called Colin, dressed as Frank N Furter) that there was a chance that I might regret that in the morning.  

We got home around 1.00, our fun brought to an sudden end by one of our party (not me, I hasten to add) who thought that redecorating Miss R's patio might be a marvellous idea.  Having dropped daughter number one off (who did not stop talking all the way home), I decided to have a shower when I got in to remove all the face paint.  If the husband had woken up in the morning and seen me in full ghost bride garb, I may well have been asking 'Have you seen my husband?' for the next few weeks (if he survived the shock).

But, dear readers, the morning is now upon us.  It's 5.31 am, and I have been up for an hour or so.  In that time, I have had to leave my desk seven times to make unscheduled visits to the smallest room in the house.

Oh it's going to be a long day....

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