It's Friday after work. On the way now to yet another dreadful deifheid dinner party. If I was a different person, I'd be grateful - I get driven there and back, I could drink all their booze (but never do), the food is tasty if you like that kind of thing. Yet all I can think is: another chunk of my life wasted.
Last weekend was better. There was a 4-hour walk, with a group of new people, and some of them were hardly deifheids at all!
Late Friday night. Just back from the deif dinner. A great night. I told you it would be good. I was handed a glass of red champagne when I arrived. Why did nobody ever tell me drink could help?
Also, the hosts were the birthday girl's parents, so for once the grown ups were in charge of the asylum, and the chief deifheids showed some restraint. I sat beside the mother, an absolute sweetie. If only I was ten years older! When I expressed an interest in her paintings, she took me into her bedroom to show me the best one. I got a proper kiss on the way out. If I'd been quicker off the mark there could have been tongue.
For entertainment, there was a litter of kittens. And even some of the conversation wasn't too bad. For once the cellmate had to drag me away.
On the minus side, I had to eat some dead tortured chemicalised animal. It all balances up.
- Posted from iPod