I woke this morning in some confusion, first general, then particular. “Why am I spooning with a golden labrador? I thought as he gently licked my ear. “I don’t have a dog”, was the follow-up thought, and swiftly on the heels of that: “Steady there, Problemchildbride, don’t jump to any wild conclusions. Try a quick peek at your environs and if anything looks too wierd, close your eyes again really quickly until help arrives”

Peek attempted, accomplished and, of course, there was no mystery. I had simply woken up upon the sofa of Friends Nigel and Anita. By the apalling, but not unfamiliar pain, in my head, I concluded some alcohol had played a part, somewhere in the conditions in which I found myself*. The dog was Striker and it was only as he sighed and blasted me with doggy morning-breath that I fully came awake and realized I was not 18. I was a grown-up and what’s more, a mother. The children! Panic seized my soul. Where did I leave them? I’d put them somewhere only yesterday, I was sure of it. Oh, bed. I’d put them to bed, that was it. Phew! Rike was babysitting and staying at the house and was going to get them up in the morning too because Tuesday is my night out for Team Trivia at the pub, and Wednesday, my lie-in day. I usually manage to accomplish that in the right house (it’s really quite impressive; you’d be impressed, you would), but last night had been a little different. Why?

A friend of mine has had a baby and, while out anyway for the quiz, I wanted to wet the baby’s head (for non-Brits, this is a figurative and, naturally, alcoholic way to toast the new arrival, or the perfect excuse for drinking way too much on a Tuesday). By God, we damned near drowned the poor wee thing. Figuratively.

It was a fun night with fun people and we won 3 of our rounds which meant 3 free shots. Dave’s out of town and so at going home time (which was much later than usual because a whole bunch of us lingered) there were very few people left able to drive. I was supposed to be getting a ride with Friend John but Friends Nigel and Anita were concerned that Friend John was away with the fairies and in no condition to be driving anyone anywhere. They live only a few blocks from the bar and so I was to spend the night on their sofa. That was the sorry tale. That was my sorry condition.

I skulked home and couldn’t meet my children’s eyes as I encountered them at the door. Rike loves it when I get drunk and is a very sweet girl. She didn’t seem to mind my poor behaviour. The girls were confused. Where has mummy been? Why is mummy clutching her head like that? I’m pretty sure they knew mummy was lying through her lying teeth when she said she’d been at the shop. I’m pretty sure they know I was a bad mummy.

I feel like a scribble on an otherwise neatly typed page. I feel like a badly drawn housewife.

*There was a whole other moment of alarm when I feared I’d lost the use of my legs, but that just turned out to be Princess, the other dog, fast asleep on my lower limbs in an uncomfortable looking way.

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