Our typical Glasgow evening ends with talking late into the night, but quite honestly I was shattered. I was sleeping in the extra bedroom and I retired there quite gratefully, despite it being only just past the witching hour. I knew I was being a party pooper (and would continue to be) but I really did feel quite rotten.
So off to thrash about in a strange bed with strange waking-dreams that there were people looking in at the window or that I'd left the door open. I even woke and tried to turn on my bedside light, groping for the chord I knew was there. Only it wasn't - that's my bedside light at home, this one was in a different place.
Restless night, woke early.
Read a bit in bed, discovered there is nothing on TV on Sunday mornings, waited until I thought the girls would be up and ready.
Knocked on their door and they were sensibly still in bed, curtains drawn. As it was 08.00 and therefore breakfast time, I thought I'd show willing and go and get some, to find I could only manage a glass of orange juice, and even that went down with hooks on. I threw it all up later in the shower room anyway.
So I let the ladies get ready in their own time and busied myself packing and generally getting ready to leave. I did join them at breakfast, but daren't eat or drink even if I'd wanted to - I had a long journey ahead and an empty stomach seemed both right and natural. This is when Steve brought out the potent eggnog! I refused so much as a sip, although I'd like some now
And then kiss-kiss, goodbye to Steve for another year, off to Queen Street station in a taxi.
Oh dear. The further we travelled the worse I felt. Danai (having barely seen me) was trying to make conversation and I couldn't even get any words out of my deadlocked mouth. I just felt hotter and hotter and more and more grim.
By the time we got out at the station I couldn't even tell her what book I was reading (rereading
Confederates in the Attic, thanks Bri). One last rising flush of heat and there I was, heaving and retching in an alleyway, the dry boak as Limey said. Absolutely nothing came out and apart from shaking uncontrollably for a minute I was fine.
The girls were lovely and didn't run off in shame or disgust, but stayed with me being sympathetic. They also hung about until I decided which train to get on and saw me through the gate. Far better than I deserved.
Didn't even thank either of them properly for my Christmas presents.
So that's the end of that part.
And the end of the sickiness.
Just a few notes from the journey home to share.