It’s almost the end of the week. I cannot wait for a million women dressed only in feathers at this year’s Notting Hill Carnival.
This coming weekend is one of epic proportions I’ve not seen in London for a long time. Danny Krivit…? Check. Noel Watson….? Check. Norman Jay….? Check. My drinking partner from the past 10 years, the one man that can get me drunker than any other...? Check. I’m a fever of excitement right now.
In the meantime though, I’ve got days 28 and 29 to get through. Wednesday and Thursday as they’re more commonly known.
Day 28 today. This has been going for a month. 4 long weeks.
The day unfolded at a fairly normal pace, and descended into a booze driven nightmare.
It started at a networking lunch, one of those things where you turn up, talk to boring people about everything apart from exciting subjects, drink too much wine, and then attempt to go back to work and prove it was all worthwhile. It wasn’t.
Once that was over I was informed that two of the young girls from the office were leaving and as such "drinks" would happen in the pub around the corner from 6pm.
“Drinks” I hate that phrase. What does it even mean? I’ll tell you. It means drinking your body weight in Guinness and telling everyone in the office about how proud you are you’ve not touched a woman, nor yourself for a month – oops.
It all spiralled out of control when one of them over heard me on the phone, talking about the situation to someone that has been a massive help. It turns out girls don’t keep secrets, and by the time I’d finished the call and made my way back to our table it was the must talk about subject. Trying to explain this to anyone is pretty tricky without sounding like an arrogant twat, sex pest, or weirdo. Trying to explain it to a room full of girls I’m going to see tomorrow, in a sober and professional situation…. Not that much fun.
Fortunately, in that alpha male way, once the conversation was solely focused on my sex(less)-life the rest of the chaps came swinging in with stories of old trying to hold court, brilliant. I managed to come out of it looking alright. One of the girls even said it was ‘admirable.’ I’m not so sure about that, but at least I’ve never shallow fried a gold-fish in whiskey before swallowing it whole.
Back in bed now, things are going to hurt tomorrow, but as long as there’s no whispering and giggling when I walk into the office everything will be just fine.
