On Saturday night, there was yet more proof that, like Corinne, things go horribly wrong when I start drinking... Gilly decided we all needed lives so the two Warwards houses and some others traipsed off to TC's, where I'd not been since England got knocked out of the World Cup. I don't know how many pints I drank - as if this isn't proof enough, I also spilt about three quarters of one of those pints across the table. And when I say across the table, I actually mean across the table and onto the person sitting opposite. And if that wasn't enough, I then later went on to prove that I do really belong in our house*:

"They have a proper sized pool table in their house..."
"Wow! That's cool. They must be really good at football then."
[Cue hysterical laughter]
"Football?! Yes they're really good at football(!) They're really small [gestures] and they run around..."
[interrupting] "Fuck off."

*Clearly I only have blonde moments when drunk.