My head hurts and I’m up way too early and I can’t sleep. Why? Because I’m an idiot. I did a run-through of a panel game-show for a production company yesterday (I can’t say who or what or they’ll cut off my legs – contractual thing) and the other people on the panel were so lovely, we went to the pub after. At 3pm. And me not been drinking what with the marathon ‘n all.
It was the first proper drinks I’d had in ages – my first since getting engaged on Saturday, even. And did I eat? Did I feck. I drank lovely glasses of things and talked the hind and fore legs off everyone who came into my line of sight. I am an idiot and they all must hate me. If they don’t, they should. I ended up at my lovely friends’ house for the nicest dinner ever and continued to talk – having the finest of times and the best of food (finally – idiot), still talking, and then I talked my finacé’s ear off in the celebratory taxi about how I’d been unable to stop talking. He laughed. At, not with.
The awful thing is that this bloody engagement has meant that I have to drink. I have to. I have one million people who are offering me champagne and I am duty-bound not to turn it down; I’m Irish and a bargain-hunter. Luckily, this comes at the bit in the marathon training where I only have 2 more 20 milers to do – technically, I’m heading into the taper phase, in which milage (and resolutions) gets dropped. Just as well, says you.
Regrets? Only the sore head; I haven’t had one in a while. A day of zero productivity (and a 10 mile training run) beckons. But it was fun. Drinking is fun and under-rated as a sport. I have a feeling I’ll be doing it again.
