- Go to see a film with the New Daddy and maybe have a drink (note the singular) in the cinema bar (where it's safe to say you'll only have the one because it's like drinking in the lobby of an unpleasantly cheap hotel).
- Meet Annie and Jenna for cocktails, Scrabble and gossip about boys.
- Have a cocktail party where I drank all of the cocktails and everyone else drank beer. And then go out.
- Pay €6.10 for a pint in a disgracefully unhip city centre bar.
- Buy rounds of Jaegerbombs on my already-into-the-overdraft Laser card and think it some kind of free money and booze deal when the barman consents to give me cash back (note: not in the same bar, I'd have needed the credit card to buy them there).
- Drink the bottle of champagne that the Leitrim Lady presented me with on my last birthday and that had been kept back for a "special occasion". Am now pretty sure that bringing a drunk brother, two of his friends and comatose Polish man back to your flat does not constitute such a special occasion.
- Tuck the comatose Pole up with a blanket on the couch and head off with the other three to a rave in an underground garage, to dirty dance like an uncoordinated epileptic until it was very very bright outside.
- Not go straight to sleep when I did finally get home. In fact, not go to sleep at all.
- Send Annie a rambling, shambling, apologetic text message begging for a raincheck.
Had I done what I was supposed to do I'm pretty sure I would have two new friends and a bruised ego after a serious Scrabble shitkicking. However, chances are I'd also have a nasty tummy bug, as the New Parents and Fake Neice all caught a dose of something rotten. Having done instead what I wasn't supposed to do at all I now have one of the worst hangovers in living memory and a big shiteating grin to go with it.
