I’m writing this from the floor of my bathroom. Thank heavens for auto-correct. If I happen to have hit Publish I apologise. If it makes any coherent sense at all, that is a small miracle.
Of all the TV characters out there, right at the minute, I would least like to be Doctor Who. To be able to revisit your past, but to be a different person – it’s not necessarily pretty. Especially in a small town, the ghosts of drunken nights past lurk around every corner.
It’s also too much responsibility to be one of the last people standing and in charge of your newly-single friend now that I’m actually a grown-up. (I do remember leaving a friend in a nightclub securely fastened in the bouncer’s handcuffs in more carefree days. So much easier. She bears no grudges, I hasten to add – she was amongst our number tonight.) I advised Rae, my gorgeous dance mum friend, whose husband ran off with her best friend, on her next manoeuvre with sweater-man and made sure she made it safely to the taxi rank. Any accountability for her subsequent actions aren’t mine. And to be honest, my bedtime had been hours before.
Suffering from hideous hiccups and in desperate need to remove the Spanx before all circulation is cut off I think it best I bid you adieu.
Sleep well. Xx