all the drinks were free! (up to half nine)

hello thursday, i love you. you're like friday but with more anticipation and less pressure. you hover at the end of the week like a fleeting fancy and your nights just tickle me.
on thursday night i attended an awards presentation in london, (the observer eco awards, and no of course i wasn't up for an award, which is what my mother assumed when i spoke to her). i was there as a third choice 'date' to my former flatmate and friend with the superlative hair, simon. by all accounts he needed someone he could go with who would scrub up well, behave herself and not neck all the free drinks like they were going out of style. when she fell through he asked me. (ba dom ba dom tish!)
things went pretty wrong on arrival when i grabbed a glass of champagne and a beer from the tray at the door, and was about to take a bloody mary too until si gave me look which said "please. it's not going to run away, you can't drink three drinks at once."(i can, especially if they're in the same glass).
after failing to mingle and failing to not smoke in that order i managed to bore the very arse of some girl by talking to her about the worm bin at the bottom of our garden*.
me: yeah, we've got a worm bin bla bla bla rubbish bla bla bla worm bin bla bla compost dooby dooby doo worms bla bins bla bla
her: yeah that's fascinating. do you mind if i stick this glass in my eye to liven this conversation up a bit ? would it even matter to you if i did ? tell you what, i'm going to chip off now and you still won't notice. yep, i'm over here and she's still banging on to herself. bye!
me: worm bins bla bla bla
i scared danny dyer by popping up whenever he least expected it like old episodes of columbo - i know i'm a bit of a stalker, but this was purely co-incidence, and the look of mounting distress on his face was quite funny so i kept at it.
by the end of it i was quite drunk, telling the girl who was filling up the champagne glasses;
"thatsh great, can you leave me the bottle ashwell ?"
and she did, by the mercy of the lord, she did.
however i was nowhere near as pissed as si, who, as well as seemingly losing his navigational skills, had taken to doing his double handed 'invisible pistols' at passers by.
"to the bus." said i.
"no, too drunk, too drunk. to a hotel!" said he, and so say all of us for we did. here. to be fair, despite our smart dress we looked as though we'd both been mugged by world weary punks - my hair had transformed into a tina turner fright wig and si had only one eye open - so i can't blame the staff looking at us suspiciously, and it wasn't until i woke up this morning, feeling just that tiny bit closer to death that i remembered thinking it would be funny to try the pauline quirke lie (see post 'pauline quirke has stigmata') on some poor bloke the previous night. he looked like he wanted to call the police. he should have been grateful that i wasn't telling him about the worm bin, frankly.
ow, my head. it feels like it's been scraped clean and replaced with mucas and dirty water. i don't know how i got to bed - i do know that there was none of that funny business, thank you very much, i retain my ladyshipness even under the slew of alcohol - and wasn't sure why i had a stomach that was threatening to violently revolt but i do know that when i bordered the bus at six thirty in the morning to get to victoria, wearing last night's snazzy little number, stone fox heels (see photo) and sunglasses the bus driver didn't want to let me on.
"you have ticket ? let me see ticket."
i showed him the ticket, praying i wouldn't be sick.
"you can't work here.""what ?"
"you not working here."oh jesus, let me die in peace can't you ? my stomach is really jittery and my head feels like it's got ram-man running around inside it.
"no, i'm not working here.""okay."
i think he thought i was a hooker. the only other people on the bendy bus were two old woman sat side by side like plump batton hens and an emo boy of about thirteen with a slipknot hoodie on, so if i had been 'working', trade would have been pretty slow.


*thanks for the advice, mitton. ("what shall i talk about if someone tries to talk to me ?" "just tell them about the worm bin.")