Robyn’s Nest

Well, Bank Holidays are for drinking and, as a diagnosed binge drinker, I thought it rude not to indulge in an alcoholic beverage or two… or three.

Two nights out on the trot certainly took it’s toll on me and, needless to say, Sunday was less than productive. I didn’t actually get dressed until 4pm and that was only to scoff burger and chips and slump in front of the cinema screen (Forgetting Sarah Marshall is brilliant by the way; Russell Brand rocks!).

But my hangover was nowt compared to my mate’s. She stayed in on Friday but something odd happened on Saturday - namely her out of character intolerance to booze. We shared three bottles of wine and had a glass of champers each and that was it. But half way through the night the contents of her stomach decided to make an appearance on the nighclub floor. Time to take her home, me thinks.

I shuffle her into a taxi with the help of a fellow volleyballer - who is only 16! How can two 20-somethings be looked after by a teenager? Wrong! Anyway, my mate was house sitting for her boss last week and looking after her two doggies, so I stayed with her. I couldn’t remember where the house was and every time I asked drunken bud she just grinned at me like she had no idea who I was.

We found the house, I put drunken bud to bed, fixed her up with water and was about to turn the light out when the contents of her stomach decided to make a second appearance - all the way down the side of her boss’s bed and lovely cream sheets.

Now this bit is a tad gross, so if you’re sqeamish skip this paragraph. Drunken bud, still with inane grin on her face, simply brushed aside the vomit chunks which had fallen on her pillow and went back to sleep. I, meanwhile, set to task covering the offensive stomach contents (a Greek mezi topped up with vino) with kitchen roll before the two dogs rushed in for what they thought was an extra dinner. Yuk.

What a nightmare. Ironically, it was our end of season volleyball do and before the chucking incident our coaches had handed out some awards. In hindsight, I think there should have been one for biggest lightweight!

As I sit as my desk on a cold Monday morning, my slightly wheezy chest reminds me that I’ve had a bit of an animal themed weekend.

On Friday I stayed at a mate’s house although on seeing her two cats curled up in her lounge, I nearly made a run for the front door. It’s not that I have anything against cats, I’m just wildy allergic to them. A few glasses of wine persuaded me to stay (or rather gave me no choice as I wasn’t fit to drive) and my mate sprayed her pets with something and then promptly booted them outside.

On Saturday I encountered two more types of animal - dogs and men. Another mate was dog sitting and introduced me to labradors Jake and Bruno; Bruno with his expressive give-me-some-attention eyes and Jake, who really needs a girlfriend. With no female pooch in sight he spent most of his time trying it on with a duvet, insisting on biting down on it and writhing around in true “doggy style”! It made me feel quite uncomfortable.

For my sins, I also volunteered to help score the men’s volleyball match on Saturday. I’ve never seen so much testosterone fly around a room! I thought women were bitchy but this game produced more back handers than a game of tennis! Sniping, moaning, abusing the refs and generally flexing their male egos, it was certainly entertaining to watch. Fortunately it didn’t descend into a post-match brawl outside the sports hall as everyone made a hasty exit to watch the ruggers. No bloodshed this time round.

On Sunday - after two games of volleyball, a red face and a very sore thigh, I watched a TV programme called…erm, I’m not sure what it was called actually. Catwalk Dogs? Maybe. Something like that anyway. It was based around a couple who split up and were reunited at a dog show. It sounds pants, but it made easy viewing.

So, my animal weekend over, I can’t workout whether I’m developing a cold or my cat allergy has just taken a few days to take hold. Aattchhooo! Can someone pass the tissues?