Sunday

Surprisingly I felt reasonably human this morning. Shortly after I wrote my blog last night I ended up holding onto a rope, sliding around behind a moving car in the snow sitting on a rubber ring. I’m still not entirely sure how that happened but it was fun at the time. I think I must have had an entire bottle of whisky by then. We’d been at it since noon. I even tried to get to standing. And failed. And yet I woke up this morning feeling fine, apart from the fact that I slept with my neck twisted around my left toe, mumbling about boilers and chewing the tip of my tongue with vigour.

So my body hurts from bad sleep, but my head doesn’t hurt from bad habits. That’s either down to the remarkable quality of Robin’s whiskey or the fact that I had a month of liver break through February. Whatever it is, I’ll take it. We got up this morning and I had a little walk. Having eaten nothing but crisps and meat for two days I thought it was the least I could do. The world was peaceful up in the peaks. A thick layer of mist was over the melting snow. It was beautiful and quiet. I’ve enjoyed my time out of town. Everyone keeps saying this snow is out of season, but last time I remember it snowing and settling in London it was April. The time before it was February. The Christmas police have encouraged us to expect snow in December but this feels more natural for snow time.

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I’m coming back to London tomorrow, just in time for the last patches of filthy black sludge I expect. This has been a beautiful couple of weeks out of town but it’s time to get back to work. It’s been a week since West Side Story ended. I have some lovely mad stuff lined up in town.

Robin drove us back in the afternoon, and traveling was already a great deal more possible. The wind has died down and the roads are no longer horrifying. We made it back in no time. Now I’m sitting on the sofa watching terrible movies and warming up. I’ve been beautifully looked after these few weeks by Charlotte, and by Rob and Amy.

Now the stag is over, Robin and Amy’s life is going to go into wedding planning madness. I’m going to try to source some fun props for their photo booth to tick that off their list. They have to think about when to order the cake, and what to use as placeholders and where to get them. About who hasn’t received invitations yet, suits and dresses and pocket squares and buttonholes, what to put candles on, what to say for the vows, the ring box, the knife for the cake, the honeymoon, the RSVPs, what does the venue provide. It’s supposed to be the best day of your life, your wedding, and it bloody needs to be considering the amount of planning thinking and troubleshooting these guys are already doing. All I have to do is book my Airbnb in Liverpool, and work out how I’m getting there and that has eluded me so far.

 

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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