We were invited to the wedding. A colleague from work was getting married, and as a bunch of nut job doctors, we were invited to the evening party. I was thrilled, as it is lovely to put on some nice dress and make up and just let yourself go every now and again.
I was especially looking forward to the dancing. It may sound bizarre, but you have no chance when you are over forty and would love to dance a bit in Cornwall. We don’t have many nightclubs, and those that exist are dominated by twenty-something first off -the mommy’s-leash youngsters who look at you like you have grown a second head when you try to dance.
All you have left are weddings. I have to say I enjoyed it immensely, just chatting with colleagues and their spouses/partners and not about the work and dancing to the live music. We had a great time, even if I decided to stay sober because my love doesn’t like alcohol lately, and even a small amount can give me a proper hangover. Besides, who says that you need booze to have a good time?
Or so I thought.
You see, English people have this custom of doing the rounds. They buy each other rounds of drinks, taking it as a privilege they can share with their mates. The venue had a well-equipped bar close to the dancing scene and a lovely cocktail called Stormy-something. They made it in alcoholic and nonalcoholic versions, and as I loved the taste, I stuck to it. I must tell you it had this ginger-sweet spiciness that delightful tingled on the tongue, and I loved it.
Then there were rounds, many, many rounds, and I danced a lot despite my wonky knee while Mark asked me to stop because his recently broken ribs were playing up. So I dance around him, treating my man as my personal maypole.
Today I woke up with a hangover, proper thirst and a raging headache type of hangover while my knee thumps with a dull ache.
Yup, sometime during the rounds, someone got me drunk, and I didn’t even notice. Then I performed my version of forty, still thinking she was eighteen and a dancing queen. Still, the fun was worth today’s suffering.