Wednesday February 1, 2006
With the dour inevitability of the serves-you-right variety of justice I woke with a hangover this morning.
Not a wham-dinger of a hangover. Just a mild headache, a general feeling of debility and a taste in my mouth that’s best left undescribed in gentle company.
A couple of glasses of pressed apple juice and a single aspirin put me as right as I could reasonably expect. In the circumstances.
It takes me back, though. Haven’t had a surfeit of wine hangover for such a long, long time. Might sound odd, but it was almost welcome, like an old friend from the days of late nights, stale ashtrays and a binful of empty bottles waiting to be carried out into the cruel light of a London day. I enjoyed my London student-style period. All of it, right down to the morning after feeling I suffered just about every day. Part of life is that, and today I was reminded of it.
No time for sitting around feeling sorry for myself, though. It was the day we had to get up and out early to take Graham to the railway station for his trip down to Somerset.
[cue the Rachmaninov…]
It was cold out there, and dull. A covey of ducks and a pair of faithful swans drifted on the still surface of the wide drain on the way to Boston. There seemed no enthusiasm in their progress, melancholy under an overcast sky. When we got to the station we sat in the buffet, sipping really bad coffee and chattering merrily, or trying to. For a moment it was almost as though we’d caught the melancholy of the water fowl.
“Look on the bright side,” Graham said, shattering the mood. “If it all works out this’ll be the last time we’ll have to do this.”
“You’re right,” I said. “And that is a very happy-making thought.”
So, as I walked off, back to the car, leaving him to find a seat on the train, there was just a little bit of a spring in my step. It really is a happy-making thought, is that.
“There you go, luv,” I said, giving Dolly a big cuddle when I got home. “That’s it for the next twelve days or so. Let’s start with a holiday. I’ll let the dirty dishes stack up in the sink and we can both of us make all the mess we like.”
Didn’t work out like that, of course. We didn’t make a mess, and I couldn’t bear the sight of dirty dishes in the sink.
That’s life, I suppose. At least, life the way we know it.
|A beautiful gift
from an American friend,
waiting for me when I got home