Drink, feck, girls

I was going to have a quiet night in yesterday, and post some of the usual bitesize musings to Timberblog, but unfortunately there was a further case of flatmate stopped play. Small child had been deposited for 24hrs onto a manfriend of consistantly willing subserviance, and with offspring out of the way, flatmate decided this was time to "party".

Her idea of party = stay at home getting drunk all day.

A complete lack of sense was achieved by about 2pm, there were protracted breaches of personal space by 3, and she reached inarticulate slobbering wreck and general household nuisance status by 5.

It was becoming clear that the best plan for my evening was to Be Somewhere Else, and a swift call to the fabulous Lady Franchester, followed by a quick métro shimmy and deftly-executed gatecrash manouevre, saved the evening. Which doesn't stop the fact that, when I returned home on the nightbus long after midnight, darling flatmate was still moping around and had casually left the gas on in the kitchen. All in all, it was probably A Good Thing I returned when I did, as a large build-up of flammable gas on the bottom floor of a 14 story building is universally considered A Bad Idea.

So thank you Lady Franchester for saving my sanity*, although your subsequent decision to be floating around in a nightie when I arrived at 2 o'clock this afternoon was perhaps a little unorthodox.

*Shut it. All things are relative.