shopping is not my life

Remembrance day has been and gone, but I don't see anything wrong with talking about it on any other day of the year, because to be honest - it's one of those things that people seem to forget until it's that one day of the year.

And it's not the only thing that people forget, respect as a whole attitude seems to get the short shrift too.

I was sitting in the waiting room of my chiropractor the other day, and I was leafing through the "News Shopper" - our local free rag. It's a rivetting read, but the alternative was "chiropractor's weekly". I got to the letters to the editor page, and discovered that they'd turned the whole page over to letters on a single subject - which appeared to be a letter from the previous week.

The letter wasn't reproduced, but here is the gist of it "Old people clutter up my weekend". The writer of the letter was of the opinion that old people should be banned from shopping in Bromley on weekends, as they are too slow, and annoy him. AND they obviously have the rest of the week to do it. Or something like that.

Where is tolerance? Where is respect for our elders? Not here, it would seem.

The replies pretty much summed up my own thoughts on reading the title of the original letter. One person pointed out that it's quite possible that the elderly in question couldn't come shopping during the week, as they were probably providing babysitting services for their own offsprings offspring.

And even if they aren't - even if they are free to shop during the week - who cares? What makes this guy so important that his life CANNOT wait on someone less able than him to move their freaking OLD arse out of his way? He's IMPORTANT, doncha know?

This appalling attitude isn't only aimed at the elderly, it's also fired out of cannon's at mother's who get in the way of other's. An article in Salon was pointed out to me today via a friend on twitter, and it wasn't the article that got me riled, it was the comments.

I don't necessarily agree with the article which was the people have it in for "mommies" with their massive strollers and rude children, I am more of the opinion that people hate rude and inconsiderate people - regardless of whether they are parents or not.

Some people spend their lives so wrapped in their grandiose selves, that they don't even notice others when they walk by. They'll run over your foot with a shopping trolley, cut you up with their massive SUV, knock your shoulder as they shove past you in the street, and if they have kids - they'll teach them to be rude and imperious brats in order to carry on the family tradition.

But the comments on this article didn't all support that logical thought. Many did. Many refused to buy into the hysteria and could see clearly that pigeonholing people because they are rude AND have kids is pointless. The having kids part is totally unrelated to the being rude and inconsiderate part.

But others upheld the very thing the article was about. They were so anti-mother that I was quite taken aback.

I am all for choice. I have friends who don't have kids - and don't want them. That's their choice, and no matter what their reasons, I respect and uphold them. I don't think that my friends are missing out on life because they don't have children. They didn't choose to not have children because of bad advice or misinformation. They decided that they just didn't want children. They have a lifestyle that they don't want to give up, and one that doesn't really suit children. And with our overcrowded world - we don't all need to grow the next generation.

But I've never seen my childfree friends badmouth me for having a family. I've never heard them spit the term "breeder" at me with degoratory barbs. And I certainly would never hear them say something as evil as "Would it be okay for the rest of us to "sort of wish" you and your breeder parents would "just die already"?

So the whole point of this post is about how people are so self absorbed that SOME people - and I know it's only some - but SOME people have put themselves so high on the priority list that they forgot that other people live on this planet. And I don't think it's the ones who are running over your foot with their stroller that I am referrring to here.

Let's go back to Remembrance Day. I was playing in a concert that evening. And in the front row of the audience where some Chelsea pensioners. Frail old men in their scarlet jackets. Heroes of a bygone era. With the news only recently that the last of the British survivors from the trenches in WWI had died at the age of 111, soon there will be no more slowly plodding gents with their breastful of medals to remind us of those great wars.

Without their scarlet jacket, a chelsea pensioner would look like any other little old man. You wouldn't know who he was. Now... without knowing who he was, or what he might have done - maybe that would give you the feeling that it's ok to get annoyed when he shuffles slowly on in front of you. Maybe make a loud annoyed huff at his back?

So next time you're down in Bromley shopping and someone old - so Goddamned old - that they should be locked in a box and only let out on Tuesdays meanders across in front of you - and holds your busy life up for 12 seconds. Maybe you should imagine that there is a hero in front of you. Because you never know - there could be.

Yep, it's that time of year again. When all the shops start pushing the christmas agenda, while all the shoppers start decrying the anti seasonalness of it.

I was in "Game" earlier today. They've beefed up their staff for christmas already. They've placed them at roving intervals of about 6 feet, which meant that there were about 12 of them standing at uncomfortable readyness. Unfortunately for me, I was the only person in the shop. By the time I made it to the preowned DS rack (which the bastards had moved) I had been offered assistance 5 times. While I stood browsing I got another 3 offers. I kindly thanked them each and explained that I was just browsing at that point. However by number 8 I did turn around and point out that I was slightly over catered for, and that I'd now been asked by everyone in the shop. That wasn't true however, since number 9 waddled along a few moments later (he should have taken a more active job in order to lose a few pounds to be honest).

So how mean did I feel 10 minutes later when I walked out without buying anything? Just a bit mean.

Out in the mall, the security guards were training two gorgeous black labradors to sniff complete strangers and then catch a rubber toy. The significance of that was lost on me, but I am sure it was useful to them. One lady must have had dog treats in her pocket, as the dog kept returning to her and sitting to attention in front of her with an eager look on his face. Either that or she had crack sewn into the lining of her sheepskin gilet. I walked past five times and they never came to sniff me. I feel smelly now, but that's probably a good thing since the idea of smelling like crack or dog gibblets doesn't really appeal.

They haven't put the christmas decorations up yet, thank goodness. I remember that they had them up last year before it hit November. They still have a week or two in which to commit that cardinal sin, and I am sure they won't disappoint. It's occurred to me that maybe the reason that they do it is because by the time it gets to christmas, no-one shopping has any good humour, let alone good will - so by then no-one at all can appreciate the beauty of the purple baubles and silvery wibbly things.

I have to admit that I have now bought four christmas presents. Two are for the stockings, and one is a skateboard because Miss Trouble Pants keeps saying that she wants one. The other is a piccolo stand for me, which I am going to use at rehearsals until christmas, just not let the children see it at home. Mr Boxer Shorts knows what he wants - that's because he wanted it for his birthday in September and didn't get it. Did I mention that we are as poor as church mice? He wanted a running watch for several hundred pounds.

Miss Trouble Pants also wants her own digital camera. This is a tricky one, since I don't want to get a really cheap one (none are really THAT cheap), but I can't afford to go mad. There is no reason why a good camera won't last her for a long time. She's been using my old one since she was about 5. It chews through double A batteries like it's got tapeworm, is only 3mb, so the photos are mediocre. I suggested to her that I get her a REALLY good one, and she let me share it with her, and the reply to that was withering. She wants it to be her own.

Miss Comic Relief has no idea what she wants. Other than pretty much everything in the Baker Ross catalogue. I could get her a truck load of her own A4 paper reams, and she'd be in heaven. All she wants to do is scribble and paint and draw and snip and glue. She tells me that her class are calling her an artist, which makes the mini easels that I have stashed in the loft a great idea for her. They only cost £1.99 however, and kinda look it too.

Returning to the beginning: I was at the mall to buy grey school tights, which I was completely stocked up on until Miss Comic Relief tore through the knee of 3 in quick succession and left the stockpile quite low. And it just so happened (how amazing!) that it was Clinique bonus time. So I popped into debenhams to restock my beauty products. I've actually been living off samples and sachets for months now, but I never buy until it's bonus time. I have about 27 clinique mascaras. Does anyone ever buy the full size ones? They can't possibly run out of the sample sized ones if they get the bonus.

This year's bonus contains some purple eyeshadow (so me!), a lip gloss, "all about eyes" cream, super defence moisturiser, the mascara, and facial soap. All in a natty bag. God I love playing with it all at home! I put the all about eyes pot on top of the previous all about eyes pot, which is still more than half full. And I made my eyes all grey and smokey with hints of purple, then I layered on the mascara. Now I am going to the deli where they are going to wonder why on earth I look like a clown.

Our local blockbuster has a rigourous training scheme which all employees must undergo. Successful staff must be able to take and match videos, accept video card, pull up details,  tally up video and snack-like beverage costs, calculate change and give the customer back their card - all without ever EVER making eye contact with the customer.

I never was an afficinado of woolworths while it was alive. I think that they lost sight of what they actually stood for - if they ever stood for anything.

I did go there regularly however - usually having to make repeat visits to find the item I needed. In hindsight, the demise of woolworths was on the cards for some time. My reasons for shopping there were primarily to find a pair of grey tights for school. In the last year I must have gone back to Penge woolworths 5 times hoping for the right size to be available, but each time only a single 9-10 year pair were hanging there. No long white socks in the right size either.

Even going to the larger Bromley store yielded the same results, and the once good quality budget ladybird brand of school uniforms consisted of poorly contructed and badly finished items.

Without the quality clothing range, Woolworths become known for coffee cups, dressing up outfits, toys, DVDs, and aisle on aisle on aisle of sweets.

But if Woolworths uniforms were bad, M&S's range were worse. I often walk through M&S in Bromley on the way in or out of the glades. I can ususally walk past the Una range and see things I like. But the reputation of good quality (if boring) no longer applies to their school uniform range. The finishing is cheap and the garments are rarely lined. And I don't particularly wish to furnish my 7 year old with school trousers that come with silver chains hanging off them as detail. Neither do I want monogrammed unicorns.

At least I can find grey tights on offer here!

Most of the girls grey school tunics ended up coming from the 2nd hand school uniform store, and ebay.

And Bhs turned out to be my saving grace for school shirts. I might be setting myself up for more work, but I refuse to send my children to schooll in polo shirts, despite them being listed as the school uniform. There is only one word that applies to that style of shirt after two washes, and that is "shabby". They look like they've been slept in, and the collar needs ironing. And ironically, the tidier button up shirt doesn't. If you whip it out of the dryer while still hot and hang it up, it looks perfect. (And if you don't... they can wear a jumper over it!)

I got a 4 pack of shirts at BHS for £4. Actually, I might be overstating the bargain, but it was still absurdly cheap. And they've lasted just fine.

As Jamie grew into them I needed to get more for Molly, but elected this time to look for a shirt that is designed to look nice without a tie, as school shirts look slightly unfinished when worn that way. I expected to find something simple with a nice peter pan collar, but my expectations were rooted back in the 70's. Eventually I looked in NEXT. Their school range is high quality, but more fashion that ulititarian. I did find some nice shirts, but they were overly fussy, and not as cheap as I should have paid. BUT she does look very smart in them.

Fashion isn't a good word to unite with uniform. I think for primary schools in this country, where the uniform is not a set style we are living in a disposable era. The quality is poor because they don't expect the garments to be in use a decade from now. They'd look dated and embarrassing if they did.

When I was in high school, my school redesigned their uniform. They failed dismally! We ended up with a sailor shirt with a massive collar and detachable bow, and wrap around skirts that went white on the side you carried your bag and rotated until the buttons went down your bum. They told us to carry our bags like ladies, but with 8 text books the size of a phone book, there was no other alternative. (There was actually - get a backpack instead of a shoulder bag, but they were NOT de rigour!)

It was even harder to tote those bags around for the senior years, as they took away our school shoes and socks and made us wear court shoes. At first we jumped at high heels (maximum 2 inches I recall...) and tottered around feeling very grown up. But the train, bus and 15 minute walk to school are not kind on shoes, and very quickly we looked shabby, and most students switched to flats.

To add insult to injury, we were gobsmacked to see the local secretarial school girls walk by wearing our uniform - in lilac and navy rather than white and navy, and with a square collar instead of round. I hope they didn't pay the designer full price as he was reusing his designs!

Time passed, and the uniform was modified to become more timeless, the collar made normal, the ridiculous clown bow removed, and the skirt into a fitted a-line skirt. They also brought back school shoes for the senior years. Probably as a result of parents complaining about the amount of shoes that they had to buy!

So what was my original point? Woolworths. They lost the plot. There is a 99 pence shop in the place of Penge's Woolworths now. It probably sells the same tat. Even in a recession, people still know that you get what you pay for. So even if it's cheap, rubbish is still rubbish. Maybe living in a disposable society has brought this down on us.

I get emails from shops that I buy from - even though I check the box that says NO THANKS. I bet you do too. Then I start getting emails from shops that I did NOT buy from. Most of them I trash without even reading them, but the other day one caught my eye. It wasn't that it had something I was interested in - it was that it was strangely familiar.

It looked like the last email from a different shop. And strangely similar to yet a third shop. I had trashed most of the previous day's emails, but I managed to dig up a few and clicked through to have a look. I found five of them (and am sure there might be more!) and they all look exactly the same, with some basic design tweaks. They are selling the same products. They have the same navigation. They are organised the same way, and they have (almost) the same main image for their main page promotion.

I am slightly stumped. What is going on here? Is this the department store version of cafepress? Can I buy a shop, choose a skin and start trading - selling things that I don't stock, but which are sent from some central warehouse with MY logo on them?

Here are the sites so far...
www.kays.com
www.marshallward.co.uk
www.littlewoods.com
www.empirestores.co.uk
www.additionsdirect.co.uk/

Update:
I didn't think to click the corporate info link on one of the sites, and I was lead to the holding company that encompasses the lot. There are two more to add to the list.

www.choice.co.uk/
www.greatuniversal.com

I don't understand why they've set up this way. Each of their brands has their own book and website. They are each described with a quite different personality. But each stocks the same things with the same setup. Are we consumers that stupid?

We've just got back from the Beckenham Town Fair, about £30 poorer, and frozen to the bone.

Take note that it's actually the first week of September, so you'd imagine if you went out wearing jeans, a jumper, coat and shoes and socks you'd be warm enough.

The grey drizzles meant that the park - usually packed in summer on a weekend - was practically empty. The vendors selling pancakes and hog roast probably didn't break even on their petrol costs.

We watched the medievil archers (it's always the yorks against lancasters) and the working dog show, then wandered off to let the kids play in overpriced and rather damp inflatables.

It's such a shame that this crap summer continues. Show days in our park are normally very enjoyable. You always run into several friends and the kids school friends, and end up sitting and chatting while the kids run riot. Today there were so few people in there, and I bet many didn't stay for long.

Beckenham now has three major chain coffee shops. The number of coffee shops is only outstripped by the number of charity shops (which currently numbers at about 6, and I am really not sure what that says about us...)

A year ago the independent coffee shop closed down under the pressure of the new costa coffee, and a betting shop opened in its place. That was a tragedy. But the opening of Cafe Nero and Coffee republik is downright perplexing. Just how much of the stuff can one village-like suburb imbibe? The three cafe's are all the same - apart from their overall colour scheme, walking into any one of them is like walking into them all. The barista's bar on the side is laden with muffins and chocolate cakes, the menu behind, the white cups, the annoying fact that "small" is no longer a size option for ordering a cappucino...

There is obviously room for more coffee shops in this sleepy suburb. After all, we don't have a starbucks. And shops have been disappearing all over the place because of the rental hike along the high street so there is plenty of room.

We've lost the flower shop, the haberdashery, two jewellers, a children's clothing shop, the strange "bath community centre" that never actually opened, a butcher's shop, several mobile phone shops (but face it, they are like the plague anyway) and more recently, the Eurforia restaurant, which bowed down to the competition of Pizza Express (next door).

The remains of Euforia is currently being turned into a Nandos - yay. That was the first take away joint I went in to on arrival in the UK. There is one in Earl's court that we used to hang out in. For a while after Euforia closed down I was afraid that we'd get a McDonalds, but thankfully we've been spared that. After all, that would make us no better than Penge.

Is that when things are free, people don't value them. And they don't seem to value the time of the person who is happy to provide them something for nothing.

I am giving away a 2 and 3 seater sofa. They are in good condition for 9 year old sofas. The covers are washable and they are in great condition. And lots of people have emailed and asked about them. But the people who were coming today (tomorrow, saturday, thursday again, friday and then today again) have just cancelled because their man with a van has broken down. And so they think they'll just give up. Now I have to find someone else, which means going down the list to the next two people (because the next 2 only wanted 1 each, but luckily they each wanted a different one!)

This means again I have to reorganise my day to accomodate them viewing it, then picking it up. And we have the new sofas arriving on saturday. I can just see me ending up with 5 sofas and one armchair in the house at the same time.

And one more think, WHY do I keep typing sofars??

So today was a fun day. I rolled out of bed at 8am, missing a full one hour of my lie in, poured my cappucino into a handy travelling cup replete with lid, cleared out George*, programmed Kenº and met up with a haggard band of mums at C---- H----- station. Ready for the Fairways shopping extravaganza.

You've heard of Bluewater? Well this is nothing like it. Tucked behind an industrial area, with reject trolleys from a variety of supermarkets is Fairways. It's a cash and carry for small shops that stock gifts and toys. There is a small metal door to enter between abandoned pallets and the trolley cemetary that leads into a warehouse that is several degrees colder than the rest of Britain.

Towering racks of plastic tat meet you as you enter, and most things are in bulk. Some of them have dust on them that has been carbon dated back to 1937. This is the one place were you can find something to satisfy a budget that requires toy prizes worth 5p.

The purpose of this visit is to stock the bulging sacks for Santa's grotto, populate the pocket money stall, and pad out the lucky dip. You guessed it - christmas fair time. I might add - the 5p toys were NOT for santa's grotto!

This place is a gold mine. I've come home with 2 large but broken boxes of "ello" for a fiver, a projector and a slushi maker. Christmas stocking gifts are pretty much sorted. I am certain to have nightmares about some of the dolls for some years to come however. Fortunately, most of them no longer cried as their batteries died over a decade ago, but the eyes on one of them were so horrifying that I expected it to chase me down the aisle with a small knife.

Anyway, we successfully found prizes and toys for a range of prices and a variety of stalls, stacked them in George and ended up eating McDonalds for lunch at 3.30pm. What a fun day out!


* George = camper van
º Ken = sat nav (with aussie accent!)

When you've had two kids and you're not a celebrity, you have to accept that a flat stomach is forever going to be an unattainable dream. Which is why magic knickers are the best invention since breadslicers. But not all magic knickers are as magic as the others. I've got one pair which works well up top - it doesn't roll down, it ends at the ribs and there is not a muffin top in sight. But at the other end, the legs holes leave a lot to be desired. They don't leave a vpl, they leave an efpl. "Escaping from pants line". Where the pants end, my voluminous buttocks spill out with a hugh sigh of relief and a lot of jiggery wobbery. Under tight, stretchy pants this looks bad enough to induce tears.

Of course, I don't wear tight stretchy pants in public, but I do wear them at the gym. And if there is a place more inclined to induce jiggling, I've not seen it. I always end up at the front, worrying that the people behind are watching in horrified fascination, wondering when the movement is going to stop.

Pineapple dance trousers are no longer up to the job, so off I go to JD sports. I am fully aware that this shop is not designed with fitness in mind, it's all about fashion. But they stock reebock, nike, adidas - I am hopeful for a bit of taut figure firming lycra hidden on a back shelf. And I find it, hooray! Unfortunately, it's not quite what I expected. The pants are good but still prone to jiggering, and the top is so low cut that I spend my whole session peering down my front, checking that nipples aren't peering back at me. The built in bra is so poor that I would put my own eye out if I had more than an a cup.

So it's google next, and that is a fruitless search. I find a huge range of sexy excercise gear that appears to have little or no support in websites across America and Australia. But in Britain there is a very poor choice.

Then, without warning it turned up on my doorstep with the rest of the mailorder hopefuls. A catalogue of sports clothing that includes figure firming tops and pants, and - get this, it's the gem - long pants with hidden tummy control. My jaw drops, it's like the gym bunny fairygodmother just visited! I leap onto the internet and shop happily.

So what happens next? Royal mail. That's what. Not a sausage has turned up on my doorstep. It's a conspiracy, I tell you.

Want some excitement in your dull, monotonous, routine little life?

Want your adrenaline levels to rise to dangerous levels and blood pressure to threaten to hit the roof?

Want to be incited to violence despite the fact that you are a conciencious objector? Be arrested for beating a granny to death with a breadstick? Thrill as you shove innocent bystanders into the path of an oncoming 73? Laugh in the face of death as you take a white knuckle ride through the world that is consumerism? Laugh like a maniac? Bwuahahahahahah!!

There is only one answer.

Go shopping. In London. In summer.

It has been a few months now, and I am beginning to overcome the mental blocks that my brain has put up for my own protection. I've started to take notice of my surroundings, and don't drool quite as much when they feed me. Those hazy days are swimming back into focus, like goldfish that on closer inspection seem to be the monster love child of a shark and a piranha. The memories are flooding back - and my mind is putting them into mental packing crates and sending them to deepest darkest mental Peru with Paddington Bear.

It started off innocently enough. I think that I said something about needing a new dress for my friend's wedding. Not that close a friend, obviously, or I would have been already sorted for a dress - something pink and frilly hanging in my closet would have been giving me nightmares for at least a month. No, I needed a dress, and I though the answer was simple. Go shopping. That was the beginning of the end.

I arrived in Oxford Circus with the other 10,000 tourists and shoppers and pushed, pulled and clawed my way to one of many exits. I skirted the conmen selling fake watches, T-shirts and perfume, and crossed against the lights, traffic hopping to the other side and the first shops, and then I began.

Now, you probably wouldn't believe this, but shopping in London is actually quite shite. Oxford street is merely a small selection of shops copied and pasted a few times along a very long street. As you walk along the street you see a NEXT, a GAP, a C&A, a cheap nasty fashion shop, the body shop, a burger king, then the whole lot starts again. Throw in a few different jewellery shops, a couple of scottish tweed shops, and the Disney Store (they have reached plague proportions now, it's quite worrying) and you have the whole lot. The same shops, the same queues and the same crappy clothing. And season the whole experience with four million foreigners walking the OPPOSITE direction to you, a few mounds of dogshit, and a handful of smelly tramps who have just shat in their trousers, and are now trying to shake the offending turd out of one leg, and you have your day of shopping all wrapped up.

I thought to myself, how difficult could this be? I need a nice, semi formal dress, for a nice semi formal price. So I first went to the big names, GAP, and NEXT. And they were all selling the same thing - cargo pants. If I wanted to go to a wedding adorned in silver silk cargo pants, then I was in heaven. A glutton of cargo pants. Trouble was, I DON'T WANT CARGO PANTS! Cargo pants are great, but you need more than them in your life! Sort of a woman cannot live on cargo pants alone type of deal.

I had a few cards up my sleeve, all was not lost yet. I headed for River Island and Jigsaw. They are known for more girly clothing. I was right, they certainly were girly, but the type of girly clothing! It was frightening to think that maybe, somewhere out there, there are women who can wear this rubbish. Now, let me get this straight, I am not a waif. But that does not mean that I am fat. But even so, there is no way that I was going to wear a piece of clothing that is in reality no more than a rubber sheet wrapped around my arse. In fact, who in their right mind would?

The problem is, that obviously, many women do. I mean, someone has to buy this stuff. And I am sick of seeing clothing made to fit stick figures. One size fits all - as far as it stretches anyway. Talk about making one's arse look like a water balloon.

OK, so obviously, I was not having much luck on the high street stores. So I decided to visit the department stores. In Australia that would have been a good idea. Not so in the UK. Nuh uh. I wandered around Selfridges for about an hour, lost in a world of confusion and intrigue. I kept seeing dresses that I liked, checking the price tags, and having angina. There was nothing there there that was not a famous brand name. After about half an hour of this, I thought that I should do a a little reality check to ground myself, so after several dresses with tags of £800, I looked at a knit sweater with a zip front. £50 max, right? The hanging tag said £250. My breath fled so quickly, I gasped like a goldfish for at least 2 minutes. There was no way I could afford to shop here!

I tried to leave the store, but the doors were built in such a way as to leave you disorientated and confused. (oh, quick joke, if you spin an oriental man around for about 2 minutes, does he become disorientated?) I ended up in ladies shoes, then stationary, then men's ties. HELP!!@!!!@!@£!@ I finally made my way to the exit.

I wandered around, confused, frightened, my brain had begun its decent into a jelly like state, and after three hours I was still no closer to finding a dress to wear at the wedding. Then I saw it - a shop aimed at the older woman! I tiptoed in, terrified of what I might find, but unable to drag myself away. Would all the dresses have built in incontinence pants? Was it THAT kind of shop? I was pleasantly surprised, classy looking dresses hung quietly on their hangers. There was even a dress or two with sparkling straps and ritzy linings, high splits and low cleavages. All was looking good - then I ventured into the changing room.

I am sure that my scream could be heard from Oxford Circus to Slough. It just was not fair. Even aiming at mature women, the dresses were still made for people with no hips, no arses. The dress I tried on, in absolutely no stretch material was stuck to my hips so tightly i thought surgery was going to be the only answer. The bust and shoulders hung happily, proclaiming to the world that, not only did I have a big ass, but I had no boobs either. I ran from the shop without so much as a backwards glance, I could barely see where I was going, as the pink elephants were taking up too much room. I just couldn't take any more of this.

I had now used up all my wild cards, there was no where else that I could shop. I crawled onto the tube and made my way home. I think in the end I wore a sheet and a cardigan to the wedding. I don't remember - it's in the twilight zone.

Never let me try this again, I would rather eat my own teeth.