Been feeling icky all weekend. Too icky - women's stuff - to go to pub to watch Man United slaughter Newcastle 6-2. Too icky to do housework, so I'm living in a pigsty. Not literally, obviously...
Spent the afternoon being pale and interesting on the sofa. Summoned up enough energy to go to the Blue Bird round the corner. It used to be a rather excellent Nepalese, now they've rebranded it as Indian with a bit of Nepalese which is rubbish, especially when there's a very good Indian a few yards away. Then to the pub for a gathering of the clan. Two of Jimmy's nieces are off to Australia for a few months, or longer. Assembled were two of his brothers (we missed the third), two sons, five nieces and a nephew. Some with partners. I drank copious quantities of whiskey in double quick time. I was so sloshed when I got home I needed escorting to the loo and upstairs. I woke up with a stonking headache and a throat like an ashtray. I had a glass of Resolve, and some more water, then, after half a cup of coffee I emptied an enormous volume of stomach contents into the loo (when I heave I always cry - do other people do that?)
I returned to bed for two hours, and then eventually went to Wetherspoons where I had two glasses of Perrier and a Mediterranean vegetable pasta bake and treacle sponge. WE did not stay very long, because I was coughing and sneezing, and drowsing, and jelly legged. I spent most of the evening on the sofa, including some of it sleeping.
