It's been a funny old weekend, well I guess any night that involves me drinking alcohol and being described as (without my knowledge at the time) 'the entertainment' for the evening is predictably strange.
A couple of months ago when the firemen came round to apparently fit new smoke alarms, they filled out a form stating I had mobility problems, which eventually led to an assessment and a decision by the er, lets call them special fire people that if I were to burn the house down in my candle obsessed pyromania it wasn't very likely I'd wake up to the smoke alarms and that on my dodgy joints I wouldn't exactly be able to sprint down the stairs to get out. For all these reasons the special fire people decided I needed a type of wireless smoke detector/alarm system that is linked to an alarm box that in any kind of emergency situation I can just press a button and it'll go through to an operator who in theory will speak to me via the box now situated in my bedroom and either check that I'm ok, or if needed call an ambulance or fire engine. Very similar systems are used by the police install in cases of domestic violence.
So friday morning started the chaos when the woman with the alarm part of the system arrived 20 minutes before the time I'd been told she was due to start connecting all this stuff up to the phone line which unusually enters the house in my bedroom. It didn't go smoothly and she was still trying to get it all sorted when the firemen (not the gorgeous ones this time!) turned up at the pre-arranged time to fit the smoke alarms. They may not have been the gorgeous ones, but they were lovely and I'd actually met one of them previously at the jobs fair which we were both agreed was a non sequitur.
For some reason, despite using broadband filters the alarm system just didn't want to connect properly and there was no dial tone when the alarm box was connected to the phone line. Now, I'm not very keen on having this system anyway, instead of making me feel safer, for some reason it just makes me feel more vulnerable and I'm really uncomfortable with the idea of the connecting box being in my bedroom, even though a button has to be pressed to connect up with the call centre, it just feels deeply intrusive and too big brother ish to me and as I wouldn't call for help that way in an emergency I can't really see the point of it all.
It took about an hour of fiddling to try and get it all to work, involving much messing about in my wardrobe by this woman as the phone plugs in there and of course that was where I'd thought I could stash both my bong and newly purchased bag of naughty underwear safely out of the way when I'd panicked and heard her arrive so early.
Fortunately it was all sorted and working by early afternoon as it was neighbour's birthday and I had lots of chasing around to do before we all got together to celebrate in the evening with a takeout and booze. Yes, even me. Apparently, I say apparently as the evening is very fuzzy to me, I was falling over drunk on what neighbour describes as a thimble full of white wine when they started feeding me shots of some cheap imitation Baileys, which already being drunk I just knocked back. I do remember headbanging to what may have been Peter Gabriel (the music had nothing to do with me!) and giving myself whiplash in the kitchen, and I know I showed neighbour what a rabbit was on her pc before I started drinking, causing neighbour chick to get very upset at 'such dirtyness' and 'why would you want to put something the size and shape of a rabbit up your chuff', she was most confused at the concept! Such horrified reactions once again has confirmed my decision that they're all getting rabbits for Christmas...I'll use lovehoney's 3 for 2 offer!
I was so drunk that neighbour had to open my front door for me at around midnight as I just needed my bed, but it turned out I hadn't been too drunk to get hold of her mobile phone. Neighbour has recently been in contact with an old boyfriend and I must've thought it was a good idea to attempt to text this ex for her as she found loads of half written nonsense texts in her drafts and one I did manage to send to him informing him I was her drunk mate and she'd made us listen to Show me Heaven over again (which was their song back in the day) Neighbour hasn't heard from her ex since and says it's all my fault. She's probably right. Big got a load of drunk text nonsense as well, but at least I managed to tell him he had a big cock and that I was being listened to peter gabriel. For some unknown reason. Peter bloody Gabriel aside this would be the reason I don't really drink, all I have to do is sniff the stuff and I'm falling over which has caused some pretty humiliating incidents in the past, and meant I spent all friday night trying to pour water down my neck while the bedroom span. I'd forgotten how horrible hangovers are.
Still, an improvement on saturday night when the cat woke me up at 4am puking on my bed.
As I said, its been a funny old weekend.