I feel an evil niggling in my throat, and the beginnings of an impending cough. I did think my candle was looking a little fried both top and bottom after last week. But I refuse to have my wild'n'wacky weekend sabotaged by a bout of bacteria, and so purchased questionable-brown-coloured bottle of Vicks Acta Plus Cough Syrup, aka instant cough death. Tastes like nine-year-old insect-infused syrup blended with jagermeister and a dollop of bovril. Gagged at desk, but stomached it in light of tomorrow's festivities. Will be up at 7:30 sharp tomorrow, Bok shirt on and ready to smash a freezo/bubbly while the boys drool over the game. Jokes, I'm totally into it! And got my England scarf ready and waiting for Sunday's game. I've gone rugby mad. Have actually arranged all weekend plans this weekend around games ---> like, wherever I end up crashing after night out on Sat must have large TV, waffle maker and myprodol; and organised to go to freezo place at 8am tomorrow instead of usual (and preferred) 10:30am just so can watch the game...
Tonight at girls' dinner I was meant to be the Bacardi Mojito Mix + Ice Crusher Machine supplier chick, seeing as I won these two things at work last week. (When I say 'won' I mean that when my editor held up the bottle and kindly started asking who might want to... ... before she could even finish her sentence I let out some sort of rabid bark and legged it to her desk to snatch up the must-have alcoholic hamper before anyone else in the office even had the chance. Probably wasn't such a good idea right before my performance review. But at least they can see I'm quick off the mark and I go after my dreams.) Have had texts this morning: 'Olive! Can't wait for mojito night.' Shit. How do I inform them that the boys and I got sucked into phuza Thursday spirit last night and drained every last drop of tipple. What was meant to be a quiet eve, a single mojito with chorizo pasta dinner turned into pint glasses brimming with crushed ice and Bacardi mix heaven, showered in limes and mint resulting in sugar high and blurred vision. Came home bottleless. And senseless. As a gesture of apology will take along crusher and turn everyone's drinks into fabulous slush puppies.
Hope I'm still invited.
For some unknown reason I idiotically decided to put entire wardrobe in the wash. Now everything is soaked right before the weekend. And let's just say a tumble dryer is not on my list of affordable luxuries (that would consist of one Mac product a month, one item of clothing a year, leg waxes, and Champagne). So, if you see me wandering round the Cape in bell bottoms you could camp under (a gypsie-esque phase in first year I'd very much like to forget), and a top fashioned from a tea towel... you know why. Will be desperately trying to dry everything on my 5cm by 10cm heater for night out on the town tomorrow. Can prob fit one item per hour. I best start now.
"Don't leaf me behind!"
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