Last night Zoë went out to a NaNoWriMo meet in Manchester. The trip there was fraught with the usual public transport woes, but eventually she made it. I gather she had a good evening that culminated in hitting a bar for a few scoops with friends. Of course, that’s where the troubles just got started.
She missed the last train home, after having not heard her phone ring five times from me over the previous three hours. So at 11:45pm I had to get dressed and head off into Manchester in the car to pick her up. At Victoria station she was waiting, looking a little worse for wear. Apparently there were three pints of Lager inside her on an empty stomach, and a packet of chips that had been a vain attempt to soak some of the booze up. It’s probably as well she didn’t make the train, as they would have most likely chucked her out after she turned all Technicolor yawn.
Instead the yawn occured on the A6. I do apologise to the rather startled dog walker (it’s your own fault for being out past midnight in the pouring rain!) who probably got a splattering. They can rest easier knowing that the car came off worse. What didn’t pebble dash the side ran down the door on the inside and over the seat. We stopped at a layby where I knew how drunk she was by the frequency of the apologies. I got her home though in the end.
This morning after a wipe over of the car, we were out to a house viewing. It did not go well, as Zoë was feeling really rotten. On the way there she was ill again, onto her lap and proceeded to spend a thoroughly miserable hour waiting in the car because it was probably best that she didn’t come around two houses – I guess her heart wouldn’t have been in it!
I’ve got her to bed, and all her clothes are in the wash. The car was a different matter, as try as I might I cannot fit it in Zannussi’s finest. Stiff work with hot soapy water and a sponge seems to have taken care of it though.
I think it is safe to say that Zoë will be off the sauce for a while!