[m i a o w] the cat

Last night I was a lushly Elizabeth Taylor and M was a convincing Richard Burton. After a couple of stubbies of Coopers with the Crab, we moved on to the second phase of dinner and then finished off with some gin and tonics (all hail Dubai duty free). And then another gin and tonic. Why, why, why do I always have to have the one at the end? After meandering through our twisted pasts (M’s is infinitely more exciting than mine - due to his excessive age and rock ‘n’ roll cred) and sitting through Celebrity Uncensored (kill me now) we headed off to hit the sack. And a night of alcoholic conviviality turned into a Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? extravaganza which ended with M, doing his best Elizabeth Taylor-esque flounce from the room, slamming the door and sleeping (or passing out) in the spare room, while I slid off into a sleep deadened state of increasing dehydration. Neither of us can now remember what our exciting fight was hinged on and it has been attributed to the demon of drink. Damn you Bombay Sapphire.

Cut to - This morning. I know I’m hungover when I wake up at 6:30am and don’t feel like going back to sleep. I know then that it will creep up on me, incrementally, as the day progresses - and by the time it’s mid-afternoon I’ll be looking fruitlessly for the sleeping pills that my brother nicked from me when I was visiting him in Fulham. In an effort to combat fate I headed to the bakery and bought something that I haven’t ever bought before (not since primary school tuck shop days, anyway). A Sausage Roll. With Sauce. Ate it and had a croissant chaser. I didn’t defeat fate, but I cheated it a little. Nah nah nee nah nah.

Crab Gossip: Tonight will be the first night that we will have a crab each. A. Whole. Crab. To. My. Self. I probably won’t need a second dinner after that.