I hate being right

[smokingboot]

Sometimes I could throw a shoe at the raven in my head. That bird is right far too often.

*Pouts* Ah well,nothing to get heavy about. If I must be right, best be right about unimportant stuff. On to other things.


Stuff has happened; it has been a tiring but delightful weekend; a gentle pre-hen night with Em, Tamsin and Dena (all without lj as far as I know), followed by what was meant to be an afternoon's bbq at the house of an old friend of larians.

Turns out that old friend, who seems to be the heart and soul of her street, is going back to Ireland for good in 10 days: she has invited us over to Port Stewart but still, it feels like the end of something very kind and sweet. And the bbq turned into a cocktail party with many varieties of brew, most of which deserve to be consigned to oblivion forever. What is this deal with Aftershock? What fool volunteers to drink something that tastes like a cross between cinnamon and petrol? Who would add it to tequila and why?

It could be argued that tequila is beyond marring, but then the posh champers made an appearance. What is the point of a champagne cocktail? The only thing you should add to champagne is a strawberry and some near-naked pretty people.Why waste champagne by mixing it with port? Why not just drink it? You will be relieved to hear, dear lj, that very little champagne was ruined by dilution in my glass. Never let it be said that I don't practice what I preach.

Inside, the PC blasted out tunes at us, and the world span to cries of 'You can't feed me this, I'm an amputee!' 'Some people live in caravans on the autoban,' and 'The Mara has this great home for elephant orphans...if I was orphanised, I'd rather be an elephant than anything else...'

The little house rocked, and the early hours of May morning passed with me and a chum using a squeejy-gun to blast vast bubbles up into the night sky; they sparkled like wee ufos and flew off to Alpha Centauri to form new civilisations; or conversely, they may have hurtled over the rooftops and popped, waiting for the inevitable rain; by the next day's sunrise, I had completely failed to wash my face in the May dew, having lost any concept of up or down. But our hosts had the cleanest roof in Macclesfield.

No hangovers were pending, though we came home the next day very weary indeed. We were pepped up by those gallant chums lauremer and bad_moon_rising but my beltane celebrations were small and swift - the fairies got their milk and that was it.

And tonight, I am alone and thoughtful.

I don't expect it to last long.

Shut up Raven. I know, OK?

Comments

[cyanidemigraine.livejournal.com]

anybody who drinks aftershock and tequila deserves to be horribly punished

luckily i feel these two things are inextricably linked and one soon follows the other