buckled under pressure of celebrating in Brighton

Oh bum - so I broke my duck after 2 weeks and had a drink in what turned into a bit of an eventful weekend - but more of that later...

drinks i had:

friday night - x2 remy brandies (as i am well posh and enjoying digestifes now i am old)

saturday night - x2 glasses house (horrible, so forced down the second) champagne, half a bottle of v nice vin rougue, x1 double brandy (enjoying digestife-ness again) x1 double rum (realised i was being a wanker so went back on the usual)

So not MASSIVELY ridiculous and happily, even though i hadn't had a drink for 17 days, i had no hangover on the sunday.

However, sweetheart had a few issues....

Mum had booked us into a realy nice little posh hotel in Brighton as a xmas pressie to help us find a new gaff.  Hotel v nice, rooms lovely and comfortable, but a bit small, so to get over space issue, the room we stayed in had black tassled curtain instead of door to en suite.  Not a problem, quite fun and made us giggle on night one.  

Night two however, different story.  

So adhering to NTR(esolution) am not eating meat, so we had very different meals in the restaurant of the hotel on saturday night.  Mine was delishus and fine, sweethearts also delishus.  Until about 4am the next morning when it became violently obvious that sweetheart had been poisoned by his food.  VERY BADLY.

Imagine this dear reader, sweetheart projectile from both ends - upsetting anyway as no one likes to see a darling heart in distress, but in a small hotel room with a tassled ruddy curtain instead of a door? Also very fucking loud.  I swear to god, I felt dreadful for sweetheart but all the retching, coughing, moaning and splattering made me feel quite faint.  I had to escape at 9am for an early morning stroll "to get some first aid stuff".

However, returned at 11ish with plain bagels (as sweetheart had basically voided approximately 4 days worth of food in as many hours), more sicky and pooh-pooh pills than you can shake a shitty (pah! pardon the pun) stick at.  It was touch and go for several hours, but we made it home to SE London in the fastest time ever.  1.5 hours door to door.  Not bad.  It's amazing the urgency a screaming arsehole dictates to a situation.

(ho ho - someone on the tele has just said "that's a nasty gash" fnaarrr!)