Since the blotting of the copybook, I’ve been on my best behaviour. The day after the ‘California Dreaming’ incident last Sunday I obviously signed off drink for good, or at least, considering that nothing is permanent, the next time.
I gathered from the grapevine that Fat Mac has heard the rumour that there’s lot’s of booze left over in this house from the 21st birthday celebrations last week, and has threatened to pitch up with no warning, but I emailed him to say that I’d left for Marrakesh. That should confuse him enough to get some breathing space.
In the meantime, I was very well behaved tonight at Fiona’s braai, up in the hills above Edinburgh. The result was an exceedingly long conversation with some fairly drunken chap about recycled dog food. This is now a topic I know far too much about.
It was a nice braai, full of interesting people, and I really don’t know why my more-or-less random opening line to the chap who happened to be standing to my right near the braai of, “Have you been to anything interesting in the Festival?” ended up in dog food.
Apart from that, an enjoyable evening.