Not content with simply knocking wine over like a normal person, I managed to carry out another classic earlier on this week. I’d had a horrible day at work and finally got home about 8.30 (which for me, is very late) and thought I’d have a nice glass or two of Vin de Table. Allow me to set the scene. I’m sitting on my bed watching a programme about really tall people (there wasn’t much on telly that night). My vino is on the bookcase next to the bed. I’m finally starting to relax after a very stressful day. Now, before I continue, let me explain a little about my bedroom set-up. One of my more ingenious inventions is a series of hooks nailed into the aforementioned bookcase to facilitate my getting dressed in the morning. Two of them are there for hanging jewellery on to avoid it getting tangled and one is for my hairdryer. Anyway, I am so engrossed in the programme about really tall people (one guy was over 8 feet!) that I don’t look as I reach for my wine. Being as I’m also trying to economise (got to afford all this wine to throw on the carpet) by not putting the heating on unless completely necessary, I’m wearing a cardigan with voluminous sleeves. The sleeve catches on the hook—as I bring the wine to my lips my arm is yanked backwards—wine is poured all over myself, my bookshelf, and my duvet. Cue much swearing, gnashing of teeth and cries of “Why do these things only happen to me!?!” Then I watched the Pride of Britain awards and felt thoroughly guilty for making such a big fuss. Then I spilt another glass of wine on myself and the sofa while the credits for the Pride of Britain awards were rolling.
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