Per usual, I was hopeless this weekend at staying quiet and not spending more in one weekend than most people on the planet make in a year.
Friday wasn't too bad (I was home before 10, although considering we started drinking at our desks at 3.30pm, it wasn't exactly sober) and Saturday went from my plan for quiet lawn bowls in the afternoon to partying at an apartment and contemplating getting into the massive jacuzzi on their roof. Don't worry, didn't happen.
Now I'm struggling because a friend has just texted to let me know he's at a bar nearby, but I'm determined to stay in and spend the evening cooking. And as I've been typing this I've decided that a happy medium might be opening a bottle of red to keep me company while I'm slaving away in the kitchen. Photos of my third degree burns coming soon.