3 days, 399 words

Even by my standards, it’s been a strange weekend.
Ted’s house was packed on Friday. Members of his family that I never knew existed turned up with alcohol and England flags and the party was in such good swing that most of us missed the first half of the football.
Philippa wore a nostalgic England shirt that must have been designed for a six-year-old boy. It was small, tight and attractive and she had at least eight male eyes on her at any given moment.
In the course of the evening, at least six people told me how great she was, and that I was a very lucky man. I didn’t have the heart to correct them and say we were just workmates.
I can’t remember getting home, but as I wandered through the house on Saturday morning with a screaming hangover and just a pair of pants on, I realised that Philippa was asleep on the sofa. It was a scary moment. Had I been kind and invited her to stay so she could drink and not drive? Had I brought her back in the hope of something happening, only to be rejected and humiliated and sent off to bed alone?
Thankfully, she was so wrecked she couldn’t remember either, so we assumed that it was just a friendly act of kindness and sat around watching kids television.
For lunch we ate cheese on toast and Pringles, and then she drove home hoping she wasn’t still over the limit.
I spent most of the afternoon looking at football information websites in the vain attempt to learn enough about the sport to sound more knowledgeable, but my head was still hurting and my mind kept wandering and wondering what Philippa might be up to.
In the end I drank lots of orange juice and went to bed early to recover.
At five o’clock this morning I got up to go for a pee, and found one of Beryl’s prize spider plants in my bathtub. I had obviously decided in my drunken stupor to liberate it from her kitchen.
This evening I popped over to take it home, and to apologise for getting drunk round their house again, and to thank them for letting me invite Philippa. Beryl squeezed my hand softly and said “that’s the girl you’re going to marry.”
Even by my standards, it’s been a strange weekend.

RC 20-6-10