For the first time in ages, I felt like writing yesterday. Of course, there was no time. Grocery shopping. Developing wedding photos. Friends over for coffee and drinks. Out to see one of Ali’s workmates as the lead singer of his own rock band. Then dancing. And more dancing. All with a sober mind.
After spending much of the week off work and recovering from an infection, I was just finishing up on my antibiotics and continuing to hydrate myself rather than drink one glass of wine after another. Albeit challenging in a crowd of laughable drunks, really effective for a sunny, Sunday morning. Oh yeah. After putting a load of laundry in and starting up the dishwasher — oh, I sound so domesticated — I sit down at the computer with my coffee, while Ali continues to sleep of last night’s rumpus. A memorable one indeed.
So last night, while grooving on the dance floor and chatting it up with my husband, I learned something new about the British culture. They expect you to buy them a new drink if they bump into you while dancing — or vise versa — and spill their drink. It’s ridiculous really when one has an empty glass, but there is no liquid to be found and she insists that your friend just knocked into her and spilled her drink all over. And then later in the evening a bloke is dancing close behind you and after some funky moves by your entire crew, one of you colides with said bloke and he begins raging about a half spilt drink. Get off the dance floor with your precious liquids mate. Whatever. Perhaps I could see the true scheming nature while looking through not with beer or wine goggles, but with a clear — albeit smoke filled view — head on my shoulders. Ali later explained the considerate tradition of blokes in a pub bumping into each other and replacing drinks. It doesn’t quite compare to the small town, everyone knows each other vibe, and the getting crazy, intoxicated, drinks on the dance floor vibe. But I digress.
So the morning unfolds into sunshine and I look down at my computer clock and find a large discrepancy with time. I recall looking at the clock by my bed an hour earlier and it stating the same time. 10:42am. I went around to all the rooms and noted that all the clocks were an hour ahead of my computer. Exactly. I then realised that today is ‘Fall Backwards Day.’ So we get one extra hour of sleep. Or play. Or ‘me’ time. Whatever it works out to be for you, enjoy time because we are always wishing there was more and dagnammit, that’s what we get today.
And here is where I go off to enjoy some of that time with a well cooked breakfast with my hungover husband. Love it. Love it. Gonna get more of it.