I’m barely awake, but what a weekend. Andrew was in town and my bestest friend, Kevin, had a surprise party for his 33rd birthday. Andrew and I had to distract Kevin during the day while his partner frantically prepared the house and got the guests in. The plan was hatched and executed flawlessly all day in a relay-like operation (which involved me getting a bit tiddly on Kir Royales for a good part of the afternoon).
Anyway, the party was a huge success, there were lots of delightful people, consumption and dancing (to my mixes!), and we floated back to our hotel at 7am. Happily, we had asked for a late checkout (which appeared on the bill as, wonderfully, ‘Sleepy Sunday’), so we were relatively intact enough to get get Andrew back on his plane to London at 6.
Bah. This long-distance malarkey is totally getting on my tits.