Me, Gordon and Casualty...

Oh God, please make it stop. Please please please please PLEEEEEEAAAASSSSSE make it stop! Have been throwing up since I woke up at half six this morning. (Why has this suddenly gone into italics? Or is this my vision from so much bloody gin? God, I'm rubbish with computers).
Now, sorry if this sounds disjointed but I keep having to stop typing to go and throw up - not a pretty sight.
Went to the wedding last night and arrived looking cool and glamorous in my bright shocking pink cocktail dress. Now, I thought, in my head, that I looked glamorous until my lovely friend Ben pointed out that I bore more than a little resemblance to Barbie's older trailer trash sister and then in a certain light I realised myself that I looked a little bit like one of those girls from the "Sheila's Wheels" adverts.
Now, ordinarily this might not be a problem but when you're in a room full of Aussies and Kiwis then there's more than a little scope for a bit of piss taking when you're dressed as an Antipodean insurance saleswoman.
So, decided there was only one thing for it and that was to get completely hammered. We started off downstairs where it was a pay bar and so my rate of consumption was relatively sedate. However, after a couple of hours we moved upstairs to the main function room where the cause of my subsequent downfall was unveiled. The FREE BAR!!!!
Now, I must point out to any prospective brides to be that this free bar was beautifully organised and noone took the mickey by leaving drinks or wasting anything but the terrible terrible terrible thing about it was that there were no measures.
I should've known it was going to go horribly wrong when the barman was pouring my drink and said simply, "Now just say stop when you want me to stop pouring".
Now Ben, as one of my mates ,should have escorted me well away from the bar as he had been instructed to do earlier but instead he was busy telling a senior member of our staff how he would like to do unspeakable things inside her undercrackers (he had also discovered the "just say when" barman's approach to measures)
I was therefore at the mercy of a load of undersexed Aussies (one rather randomly wearing a kilt with no pants on underneath) and a heavy handed barman.
I therefore have no idea how I ended up eating potatoes with my fingers, how I lost my shoe and how I got that enormous bruise on my left hand (although my mates tell me it was from trying to knock out one of the ushers out when he tried to push me into the lift shaft for a completely inappropriate and totally unwanted snog).
The wedding itself was a relatively quiet affair and the bride and groom looked really happy. The venue was pretty cool too although the ladies loos were brown floor, wall and ceiling tiles so it was like trying to re-touch your make up inside a rolo which is my excuse for my excessive application of so much lip gloss that I appeared to have two pink slugs attached to my face.
I did receive a text from ex during the evening - his team had won the finals of a sevens tournament he was playing in and he'd scored. He saw fit to contact me to tell me, so for about 15 minutes, I went out onto the fire escape and had to have a little cry.
The combination of watching the bride and groom's first dance only months after my own and ex being so far away and completely gone, had made me a bit tearful.
So, I stood over 5 floors up on the fire escape in my sheila's wheels dress (which I had had to secure with safety pins as I've lost so much weight recently) and had a little cry into my gin and tonic. I bit on my lemon wedge to remind me of all the bitter cruel things ex had done then spat it out and threw it down onto the wheelie bins.
I rejoined the party and that idiot in the kilt had started to try and introduce me to his family who all seemed incapable of speaking to me without spitting, so I was completely sprayed in spittle and was a little wobbly on my feet too.
Was then introduced to a mate of the groom who was actually quite nice. However, he was six feet five so I felt like a complete dwarf next to him. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is how I lost one of my shoes though as I vaguely remember taking one off to show him exactly how short I was. This now meant I was covered in spit and lipgloss, had only one shoe and was still dressed as an Antipodean in a pink cadillac. Not my finest hour.
Luckily the taxi arrived just then and me, Ben and my other two mates were driven home. Unfortunately I fell fast asleep all the way home until Ben dragged me out outside my house.
I woke up this morning still in my Sheila dress and with one shoe on, face down on my bed.
I did the usual, "Shit! Where's my phone, keys, purse, handbag?" check and was pleased to note that I'd managed to keep everything together.
Unfortunately, although I'd managed to keep everything together, i couldn't keep anything down, so have spent the whole day bloody well throwing up. I have also had three rather random texts from the same unknown number which have all been picture messages of a photograph of a tiger. What's all that about?
Ex phoned me too this morning and I did my ususal gin-soaked hungover crying thing, begging for him to come back and he just refused. God, why do I do that??? So, went back to bed after that with a tube of pringles and my phone. I've since had another call from personal trainer man who seems to want to make me his personal project and get me back on the straight and narrow. I think he finds it amazing that one person can consume so much gin and still be alive. I've told him that I avoid scurvy by eating the lemons in my G&T towards my 5 a day and that I had a potato last night so that's another food group but I don't think he's convinced.
My mum also let herself into my house this morning to bring me croissants and make me a cup of tea. She's still worried that I'm losing so much weight with all the upset so she comes and makes sure I'm eating - bless her.
However, the croissant didn't stay down long - neither did the Pringles if I'm honest and I've now convinced myself I've got alcohol poisoning. Have decided that my skin looks a funny yellow colour and that this means I have liver failure. (Nothing to do with my dodgy application of fake tan!!!)
Am about to have dinner round at my parents' with my brother, his fiancee and her parents to begin planning their wedding next year. I'm due to be bridesmaid although I'm not sure if a 34 year old twice divorced binge drinker is the best person to have escorting you down the aisle!
Oh well, I'm sure they know what they're doing.
So, I'll say bye for now. Don't forget to let people know where I am. I feel like an old nana in a nursing home waiting for visitors in this little corner of Cyberspace all on my own!
Thanks for reading and hopefully next time I type I'll not have had any alcohol within the previous 24 hours!!!!!
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