Lord my head hurts. Holidays, it seems, are all about hangovers. I've had seventeen just this week. And it's only Tuesday!
Last night I had a Monday club reunion. Monday club was when a good friend of mine (who is a celebrity - all of my friends are famous, and if they aren't, they should be) and I would catch up with the pretense of watching Alias or Buffy or some other program. We'd have a bite to eat and a bottle of wine. Well, when I say "a" bottle of wine, I mean 6. This was back when I was working at Triple J and it still continued last year when I was working at Fox FM for about five minutes a day. This year, Monday club has gone by the wayside. One of the hideous realities of breakfast radio is that you have dinner at 4pm. It's bizarre, I know, but it's what I do. So last night was the mother of all Monday Clubs, and we did a full twelve months worth of drinking. We emptied several bottles of wine, and like gin-drenched aunts at a family xmas do, we got a bit emotional and needed hugs. It was glorious. It's the best way to start the week, nobody notices if you are a bit slack on a Tuesday, trust me...
I just got back from Lorne. Stayed at the Cumberland Lorne Resort. (That's the view from my balcony - I took that photo with my phone) It was bliss. Although I am still fetching sand from my various nooks and crannies. I had a visit for a couple of days from Cabaret Star Wes Snelling. I bought a big hat for the ocassion so I could be Hilary Whitney and lie on the beach dying of a bizarre ailment, while he as C.C. Bloom fetched things for me. Wes soon tired of the phrase "C.C. - Hilary wants you to..." and the various demands that followed. He had to do what he was told, however, because Hilary is very sick and needs help. When at the beach, homosexuals must always play Beaches. I'd hate to think what the people of Lorne thought was going on when two loud corpulent poofs were flouncing around under the mistaken belief they were Barbara Hershey and Bette Midler. If, like many people, you are wondering what happened to the child, C.C. told Whitney she buried her in the sand. She stuck the straw from her milkshake in so the thing could have some air, though. C.C. is a deeply feeling person, she feels things. Deeply.
Have a Merry Xmas everyone. And a happy new year.
I'd love to write another fablog entry before that all happens, but you know how slack I am when I'm working. Imagine how shit I am when I'm on holidays?