Wednesday, August 23, 2006

"Just because I'm sorry doesn't mean/ I didn't enjoy it at the time"

"Just because I'm sorry doesn't mean/ I didn't enjoy it at the time"

It's 8:30am and I'm in a 4* hotel. I'm in the hotel because somewhere down the line it seems that four of us getting a room so we could continue drinking in the hotel bar was a good idea. Good idea in the sense that expeditions to the north pole are a good idea and thus, in the cold harsh light of day, probably not the greatest idea that two Oxonians, a writer and a famous actor's son have ever had.

Things that I know the last 24 hours has contained: Baileys, double riccardi and coke (x2), brandy (free), double generic white rum and coke (x4), whisky and some horrid mixer (free), whisky and coke (free). There has also been: musical songs and dancing to Steps and S Club 7. These two lists may well be connected. As may the fact that I have been (I've been subsequently informed) surgically attached to a particular actor for the last five or so hours. Because every wrap party needs a car crash and clearly I'd put my name down for this one.

But now it's 8:30am. I smell of roll ups (not mine) and whisky (mine). Oxonian and FAS have returned from breakfast with bloody marys. Which is just what my stomach does not need.

"I think I'm going to be sick"

"Bailey Rae, you went to St Anne's - you're a clever girl, you're not going to be sick".

I wish I had Oxonian's conviction.

FAS settles down on a chair opposite us. Oxonian decides he's going to have a bath but before he goes - possibly in the knowledge that the room is on his credit card - passes me the bin.

Writer and FAS talk about Directors and baseball bats. I lie back down. And then - oh joy - I hear the word "breathe!" and the only thing I want to be surgically attached to is the rubbish bin.

But even in the midst of this, what with Oxonian in the bath and Writer and FAS watching me vomit, I know there's a great - well, maybe not great, possibly notable is a better word - memory stuck amongst this. Because I like to pretend I'm a bit rock and roll, and this I think we can all agree, is just a little bit rock and roll. And, most importantly, it'll be fucking great in the memoirs.


cat said...

you're so bloody rock n roll! now I'm starting to worry that you didn't so much stop the clock as put a ruddy great mallet through it... me, jealous? nah!


Nik said...

nic would like it noted that she KNOWS WHERE THE TITLE'S FROM without the wonders of google! still working on learning to play it though...

p.s love you too babe!

val said...

And there was I starting to think my life was pretty rock and roll till I read that! Hope your head feels beeter soon!!