Blonde's Eye View: Christmas party season overload
Season to be jolly? Not for a hungover Angela Clarke it isn't.
The prospect of going out again tonight for Christmas drinks is making me cry.
And I really like alcohol. Wine is my friend; it's there for me during awkward social situations, and anything involving my family.
But the last two weeks have bust my booze limits. It's been one bash after another.
Lunch, followed by drinks, followed by supper, followed by late night karaoke singing to 1970s pop songs. I can't face any more small talk. I never want to chew another rubbery canapé. Please don't show me the cocktail list.
I am the party equivalent of the lame one in the wartime drama. I've taken a direct-hit to the liver. "Go on without me. Just leave me here. You can still make it."
Cue my equally intoxicated friend slapping me round the face and screaming: "Stay with me! Don't close your eyes! Don't go to sleep! It's only the night bus - just one more stop!" Oh Christmas socialising, you're driving me to insanity.
It's the continuous nature of the frivolity that has broken me. Sisyphus thought he had it bad rolling that boulder up the hill every day. He should have tried repeatedly squeezing himself into Spanx every morning.
Each night I'm showered in the spittle of those who are trying to be heard over Wizzard's "I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday".
I do not wish it could be Christmas every day. I wish it would all stop and let me just sit on my sofa in my tracksuit bottoms and sip milk thistle.
The Mayans were right when they hinted the end of the world would be December 21. At this rate it will be curtains for my liver and me. Bottoms up and Merry Christmas.
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