You know it’s been a good night when your planned quiet evening in ends in the early hours of the morning after the consumption of several bottles of wine and the cooking of bacon and black pudding sandwiches at midnight. Strangely I don’t feel as tired as after the usual #Tuesday shenanigans, but that’s probably because there’s been less driving involved – or possibly the wine has a different residual effect on me than the beer and diet coke that I normally switch between on any given night out.
We’d invited Sir S round, having cancelled our plans for the usual night out. We were both feeling drained and exhausted and we had his birthday present sat on a bookcase looking lonely so it seemed a gentle compromise. The problem is that Sir S is one of those people who lifts a room just by walking in. He works hard on his positivity, and it’s hard not to smile when the anecdotes and silliness begins to roll out. He’s also – like me – an incorrigible flirt, so our evening just rolled along.
And you know what? I can’t remember half of what we talked about. There were no dramas, no back-biting, no sharing of worries: just childhood stories, favoured reminiscences, random observations and geeky asides. It was lovely.
But it was still gone 2am when I tumbled in to bed (Lady M had retreated an hour or so earlier), with the knowledge that my morning held opening up the library, cashing up, Story Time, and training new staff. I (thankfully) don’t have a hangover, but I am leaning heavily on the caffeine to be productive this evening. This current cup will be my last for the next 24 hours I think.
A damn good night though. Funny how getting even more tired suddenly feels refreshing