Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

Today, the fires of my personality are dampened. In fact, I’ve seen pissed-on barbeques show more spark than what looked out of the mirror this morning. There was a 30th birthday party next door last night; as it was Harry’s godmother, we felt it best to exclude him completely from the proceedings and enjoy ourselves without him.  I probably judged the wine and champagne vaguely right, but slipped up badly with the whisky – in that, I actually drank some.

John & I staggered down the hill at midnight like an ambulatory A-frame, and proceeded to talk unmitigated shit to his parents, whom we had left on guard over a snoring Harry. Given that my dear old FIL probably dozed in front of our TV (as opposed to his own) for the entire evening, I did go to bed worrying vaguely about having a guard to guard the guard in future.

You can clearly tell we are getting older. Harry, after busting our chops with yet another 5.30am wake-up, went down for a nap at 10.30am… and by 10.35am John & I had given in to our nap-envy and were also back in bed, snoring blamelessly. I did manage to redeem myself by dragging a skirt and boots on and staggering out into Stratford to wine & dine again with friends this evening, but I was ineffectually smothering yawns the entire time, despite excellent company.

I am, my friends, Past It.

However, I have recently lived a vicariously wild life via http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/

I urge you to partake!

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