the morning after the night before

We’re in Cafe Rouge for breakfast.  We had a late night and as we’re about to hit Sainsbury’s,  Anniemay figures that if I’m properly fed and watered, I’ll get round the supermarket in reasonably good humour.

My gym held its annual dinner dance last night and I’m still worn out from sitting back and watching a group of 70-80 year olds with heart disease, jive and boogie until well past my bedtime.  

That - and the drama of the raffle - had me under the table.

The band - a three piece, easily the same age as those on the dance floor - finish the first set with a spirited version of ‘all over now’ which they neatly segue into ‘putting on the style’ complete with banjo voice on keyboard.  They take a break so that they can have a lie down and we can draw the raffle.

We decide that we’ll leave after the break, when the band comes back on again.  The lights will dim and all attention will be on the dance floor and we can sneak away unnoticed.

The raffle is drawn without incident and there’s one prize left, a duvet (new and boxed).  I push back my chair and gather my things in anticipation.  But the winner rejects his prize and puts it back to be drawn again.  As does the second winner.  And the third.  And fourth.  

It’s beginning to turn ugly.  People are getting impatient.  Asthma inhalers, GTN sprays and blood pressure pills are taken out of handbags and pockets and placed on tables as the stress starts to make itself felt.

I’m staring at the floor trying to remember my relaxation techniques, when there’s a big collective wheeze as the 6th lucky winner eventually does the decent thing and ends the standoff.

The band shuffle on and we shuffle off.

So - we finish breakfast and I take this blip of Anniemay with my phone.  We breeze through the supermarket, without incident. Even the bill - considerable more than we were expecting - does not phase me.

“You’re just like Chris” Anniemay says; “you can never take him anywhere till he’s been fed.”