When you take someone up on an invitation for a night out, and the invitation starts with “Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be”, be forewarned. You won’t escape from such an event until well after noon the following day. When you do extricate yourself, with your mouth seemingly full of cotton, and your head echoing memories of a night you can’t quite forget, but prefer not to remember, you might find, as I did, that while you slept on a strange futon, yes some people still have futons, Andy Roddick, in a game of epic proportions, came as close as he ever had to conquering Federer in a grand slam — but didn’t.
Things are never as bad as they seem though. Once I get through this the future looks bright. Palin has resigned to do her work from the back end, that news has overshadowed the news of the rush for Michael Jackson memorial tickets, and Johnny Depp is the Mad Hatter. I couldn’t ask for more.
So, here is to the hair of the dog that bit me.
Proving once again that it’s not the size of the glass but what’s in the glass that counts.
Come again. And please, come as you are.
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Peace.
