Sunday, 5 December 2010

Weekend at Bernie's

Even if you work in an insurance office eating biscuits and chatting to people called Pat about their grumbling ovary, you get 4 weeks holiday a year. So why shouldn't it be the same with motherhood? When my amazing free press trip from Gatwick to Barbados was cancelled this week (don't fucking ever ask about it or ever say anything nice about fucking snow ever again or I will poke your eye out with a biro) I decided I needed a rest from the grind of waking up too early and constantly wiping up shite. So husband and child were packed off to see my brother in London for a few days, leaving me to take a long swim in Lake Me.

Turns out Lake Me is a polluted swamp of drink, debauchery, bad food, bad TV and sitting around for long periods in a pair of manky bed socks tweeting about Homes Under the Hammer. ('The fireplace needs to be replaced and the carpet is damp!! LOLZ :)'). Without my responsibilities I have no moral compass. I'm lazy and I'm greedy and I leer at 18 year old boys on the bus. I very rarely bother to brush my hair. I am a monster.

On day 1, I emerged from my scratcher at 10am, fiddled with my new phone, wrote a few choice words about vaginas for a magazine, watched 8 solid hours of daytime TV (including back to back episodes of Coach Trip from 2001) and went to the pub.

Day 2, I got up at 11, interviewed Katie Price's fanny waxer, went for a coffee with a friend, ate an entire packet of ham, went to a friend's house, scoffed 2 pizzas the size of my head, and tipsily fell over on the ice.

Day 3, I got up at 11.30, wallowed in the bath for an hour, met a friend for lunch, went shopping, got dressed up to the nines, got absolutely hammered on vodka and lemonade, went to a club and got propositioned for a threesome by a mortally drunk Swedish man. Refused this request for some bizarre reason, and fell into bed at 4.30am, too drunk to find my pyjamas.

Day 4, I got up at midday, found myself in a hole of post-debauchery despair, had some toast, watched a Lindsay Lohan film, ordered a massive curry for one and worried that I would die alone with Come Dine With Me still playing as my corpse festered on the sofa.

Bloody hell, it was brilliant.