Hangover and Indian

Ouch, should never have had that brandy. Got up at 9am to teach down at the sailing club but got there and it was cold, misty, and my head was killing me. Called it a day very early and headed home, wanting tea, my bed and a good book.

However we are playing hosts tonight, as a friend is staying over and it’s as good excuse as any for a cooking session. I’ve never tried much Indian cooking but since our guest is a vegetarian it was a logical choice and a good excuse to learn. We did some recipes and settled on mulligatawny for the soup course, a lentil and spinach main course and curried chicken for the carnivores among us. M’s ex was also over – it might seem odd but we’ve become fast friends and he comes out with some genius conversation points.

Delia Smith’s mulligatawny recipe was examined and rejected for being too bland, but some on and offline research was done and we found something that was acceptable. A quick trip to the local market turned up everything apart from curry leaves, but we dispensed with those and the dishes still came out well. All in all it was a success, but we’re going to be eating leftovers for some time to come.

Dumb idea no.2,216

Some things don’t change - the morning after a leaving day still comes with a hangover.

In a fit of optimism I’d signed up as lesson coordinator for Saturday sailing lessons at the club. This means getting down there at 9:15am and I woke with a thick head, threw on some clothes and pedaled down at a speed only made possible by the fact that no-one else was foolish enough to be awake and on the road.

A few students were waiting, looking impossibly chipper, and we got the boats in the water and sent the first set out. In the meantime I guzzled water, showed people around and helped with docking and unloading. It’s a stressful morning, with a lot of fun thrown in. One senior skipper showed up and gave live capsize practice from the dock for about ten students while they waited, and I sneaked in a lesson at the end of the session.

There’s always a surfeit of students at first. All the skippers are volunteers and it takes a lot to get out of bed at an ungodly hour and teach for free. We got enough to get things moving and then more showed up and the day finished with no-one having missed a lesson – just the way we like it. I even felt human enough to partake of the end of lesson BBQ.

Ouch

Leaving party last night and this morning was very, very grim.

The hangover was quite bad but it wasn’t helped by Virgin installing cable in the house at eight sodding thirty in the morning, so I woke to the sound of the front of the building vibrating as a hole was drilled through the wall.

But the hangover was well worth it. Last night was a great send off and huge kudos to everyone who showed up. There were some unlikely arrivals who I hadn’t seen in ages, older friends and a few relatively recent ones. Special award to Rupert who managed to get out of the Apple launch in time for a quick drink before persuading the BBC to send a car to pick him up from the pub so he could do an interview.

It all started off quite slowly, although we weren’t the first people there. But then it just seemed to hit a critical mass of people and things kicked off. People mingled well and it was good to see so many old friends. The turnout was surprisingly high – I nearly had a Sally Field "You like me, you really like me!" moment.

But the Brownian motion of parties was in play; just as all house parties end up in the kitchen eventually so this one ended up in the smoking area outside the pub. By nine the upstairs bar I’d booked was empty, apart from a few forlorn looking rucksacks, and everyone was outside. To be fair it was a hot and muggy night and probably the majority of people there were smokers.

We stayed out until closing time and then A, A and myself headed into Soho to find a bar that was open. I nearly got refused entry, after the bouncer found my homemade ‘In case of emergency’ kit from C. This excellent gift contained Marmite, chocolate, tea and a bottle of beer. We agreed to check it in at the door.

After a quick drink my brain started sending me signals that it was time to go. Staggered down to Trafalgar Square and low and behold an N47 was waiting to whisk me straight to the end of our street. God looks after drunks and small children*. Got home and fell into bed, actually took a running leap if memory serves. It as a night to remember.

*Well, obviously not, unless the deity was asleep at the switch in Austria and Portugal.