Let’s spend a Friday night…
There are many fruitful and virtuous ways to spend a Friday night. You could go to the theatre, for example. You could head off for a nice dinner somewhere civilised. Alternatively, you could, if you were feeling particularly saintly, even spend it on the sofa with herbal tea, watching something with subtitles and cultural value…
Or if you were Perry and me you could ignore all common sense and get completely rat arsed!
Oops!
It all started innocently enough with a glass of wine and some seabass on the BBQ. But it quickly descended into a kind of Armageddon. Yes, we decided to compete to see who, without the other ones’ knowledge, could pour the largest glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Perry declared himself the undisputed champion despite measurable evidence to the contrary.
And then oh the glamour, he tripped over the patio heater and fell through the doors into the lounge! If pratfalls were an Olympic sport he’d surely have scored 9.4. Then with all the dignity of a man pretending not to be drunk he took himself off to bed. No drama..No fuss.
It gets worse!
Meanwhile, I decided it was the perfect time to tackle the kitchen…..which was, in hindsight, a bit ambitious for someone who could barely stand up! In fact, I did end up on the floor twice! And, about as wise as giving a toddler a chainsaw, I bent down to put something in the dishwasher and knocked a bottle of Worcestershire sauce onto the floor.
In a futile attempt to mop up the mess I’d just made, I slipped, BANG **** I smacked my head on the island so hard that I saw stars (and not the sparkly romantic kind either!) Somewhere in this train wreck of an evening, my temporary crown made a bid for freedom. It is now probably languishing somewhere under the fridge alongside 3 pieces of dusty Lego and a collection of cornflakes.
And the moral of Gin and Panic?
Fast forward to the morning, and Perry emerged rather sheepishly with a delicate head. Whilst I emerged looking like I’d done five rounds with Mike Tyson, and sporting a black eye that would make Conor McGregor proud.
The moral of the story…..Alcohol and domestic chores are a dangerous combination. Patio heaters are not to be trusted. Worcestershire sauce is a silent assassin and never EVER attempt kitchen heroics after the 3rd G&T.
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