Amateur Night

So it took me longer to finish than I anticipated but at least the ninth story is done...just one more story to go.

Christmas was great, too great, as I completely overdid it in the food and wine department and have had nasty stomach cramps ever since. This never used to happen when I was in my twenties. I could eat and drink my own body weight, have a sleep in, and then repeat. My body can't keep up but sadly my mind still thinks it can.

I'm feeling better today though, just in time for New Year's Eve. Am I the only one who is left a little cold by it? I think it was Hugh Hefner who said it was amateurs’ night, and by God that man knows a thing or two about having a good time. (Get your mind out of the gutter.) The entrance fee charged by every pub is insult enough, but the scrum of bodies is enough to turn this five-foot-nothing short-arse into a nervous wreck. It's like restaurants on Valentine's day - which come to think of it is amateur night for couples.

When I was in my twenties I wouldn't have thought twice of paying for the privilege of drinking in a furniture-less, sticky-floored, BO-humming pub on New Year's eve, and then limping home for ten miles in my heels in the freezing cold because no taxis could be had. Nope, my friends and I will be safely holed up in a pub ten minutes walk from our flat. Actually fifteen minutes with a stop at the local chippers. Ah, the wisdom of old age.