This post took many forms in my head over the last 72 hours or so but only now am I finding some clear headspace to write it all down. Basically, the gist is that I've been bested by some Irish. Specifically, The Irishman's family.
Mum arrived on Tuesday for a few days of R&R and sightseeing. The Irishman took Tuesday and Wednesday off from work to hang out with her and I escaped from work after a half day on Tuesday to join them for lunch, a show (The Mousetrap) and rinkside mulled wine at Somerset House and dinner at Tom's Kitchen. Wednesday I had to work and met them after their action-packed day in Knightsbridge and Kensington (they roll posh) at Daphne's - a lovely restaurant that apparently was a favorite of Princess Di's.
Mum left Thursday afternoon, just missing her other son, The Irishman's brother, as he rocked up with The Irishman's cousin and a good friend of theirs Thursday evening for a lads weekend SLEEPING ON MY FLOOR. ALL OF THEM. I can report that my flat smelled like man for three days straight, I had to suffer about 1 million games of Guitar Hero and we went through probably 6 rolls of toilet paper. The Irishman and I both took Friday off from work to hang with the lads and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly, but let me say that I am pooped. I ate dinner in a restaurant for 5 days straight which made me feel like I wanted to die with fullness twice. I took like a gazillion cab rides, which is so indulgent and SO expensive, and drank probably 10 gallons of wine (not all at the same time). Basically, I am a shell of my former self.
So today, finally, we got our flat back to ourselves. We did 3 loads of laundry, made some restoratively healthy soup, set up our Christmas tree (hurrah!) and basically just relaxed. I would now prefer to never eat again and potentially hibernate from this point forward. Too bad I have to do it all over again (!!!) in two weeks with the same folks in Ireland. God help me.