How am I hungover on a Wednesday. A WEDNESDAY. For crying out loud. I’ll tell you for why. Because red wine is the elixir of the devil.
Last night I went for a delightful catch up with me scouse pal Jodie McNee, (we met at the RSC- DAAAAAHLING) and we thought yeah, we’ll just have a little classy glass of red wine and a mildly amusing chinwag. It turns out apparently a mildly amusing chinwag turns ever so slightly riotous when mixed with vin rouge. Anecdotes turn into jokes, jokes turn into demonstrations and demonstrations turn into prank calling your mates and leaving phony voice mails. Yeah we thought we were funny too.
So this morning I woke up with carpet mouth and the feeling that instead of shrinking the kids, Honey had just shrunken my brain. And with it my personality, intelligence and soul.
I may be being slightly over dramatic. And no there is no real purpose/narrative/point to this particular blog entry other than to warn the entirety of human kind against the beguiling power of red wine. House wine in particular. From Wetherspoons... I really should have known better. But you never do, do you?
Each time one has a hangover one says one is never drinking again. And one is lying. To oneself. And to the WORLD.
So for those of you about to take that first delectable sip of red wine this evening after a hard day at the office… think again. You could end up like me.