Each year my friends and I have a little tradition. Now that we've all (well, apart from me) got our own houses/flats/hovels, one of us cooks an early Christmas dinner for the rest. Last night was the turn of my my beautiful friend Emma and her boyfriend Jim. Poor Jim, the only vegetarian amongst 9 rabid meat eaters. The food was incredible. Turkey, sausages, roast potatoes, yorkshire puddings, sauteed cabbage with cream and bacon, sprouts with chestnuts, carrot mash and the best gravy I've ever tasted in my life.
Seriously, I could have drunk it from a glass (or, let's face it, the jug... I have no shame).
I drove over to do away with the temptation of drinking. But then got talked into staying in the spare room. So naturally, come 3.30am, me and Em are drunk on gin, still awake and watching non-stop music channels, offering a detailed critique of every song that comes on. I have two conclusions: 1) Every video for every R'n'B song ever made is beyond crap. Woman shakes ass in man's face. Man wears copious bling. 2) I have an astonishing knowledge of bad 90s pop. Lyrics. Dance moves. The whole shebang.
All in all, it was the perfect festive night. It's just a shame the kitchen had to look like this this morning. Strongbow cans in the sink? Check. We are vile.
Oh, and because I know you've been dying to see them. Here are the fruits of my labour yesterday. X-Factor badges. I like to take some credit for the fact she won....
Eoghan: Just say no
Now I'm off to decorate the 7ft behemoth of a christmas tree that my parents brought home yesterday. If I'm not back later send out the search party... I'll be trapped in a pine and tinsel nightmare of my own making.
