New Year
Still recovering from the usual sorethroat - cough - fever - headache nonsense that my body regularly descends into. A nosebleed has been added to the mix, for variety this time.
New Year's was spent at a Bollywood theme party, which saw me decked out in my best generic ethnic costume (which actually comes from Thailand, but well, there you go - it's not as if I could conjour up a punjabi suit at short notice). The party was a combination of children (loud) and adults (loud+alcohol=louder), crowded and fun - so fun even the local police dropped by for a while after midnight, a friendly patrol car summoned at the behest of some rather stupid neighbours who didn't seem to understand that it's New Years, for crying out loud. Things were already winding down by then, so it didn't really matter. The sparklers left over from the Christmas barbeque were burned up in a matter of minutes, the children running around like little pyromaniacs in training - I never realised just how much smoke those things can put up, but then again there were about 126 of them. Sparklers, that is, not children. The party was very well organised - there were door gifts, a lucky draw, and excellent curry - a veritable dinner and dance in miniature, brilliantly hosted and organised. For some reason, I particularly enjoyed just sitting on the floor (not many chairs, and too many kids) and eating a simple meal of plain rice and curry with my hands - it suited my convalescent needs perfectly, and there's something both primitive and simple about just eating with your hands that makes even plain rice taste better. Maybe it was the seasoning of epithelials, sloughed off from my skin.
The whole of today was spent in bed, cradling a hot water bottle (how I ever got through childhood without one I don't know, so comforting they are) and watching CSI on continuous loop on TV. I am completely CSI-saturated: every piece of lint and litter suddenly looked like epithelials (hence the above comment) and clothing fibres. Sudden urge to gingerly pick up random pieces of lint and cat hair with tweezers and bag it.
New Year's was spent at a Bollywood theme party, which saw me decked out in my best generic ethnic costume (which actually comes from Thailand, but well, there you go - it's not as if I could conjour up a punjabi suit at short notice). The party was a combination of children (loud) and adults (loud+alcohol=louder), crowded and fun - so fun even the local police dropped by for a while after midnight, a friendly patrol car summoned at the behest of some rather stupid neighbours who didn't seem to understand that it's New Years, for crying out loud. Things were already winding down by then, so it didn't really matter. The sparklers left over from the Christmas barbeque were burned up in a matter of minutes, the children running around like little pyromaniacs in training - I never realised just how much smoke those things can put up, but then again there were about 126 of them. Sparklers, that is, not children. The party was very well organised - there were door gifts, a lucky draw, and excellent curry - a veritable dinner and dance in miniature, brilliantly hosted and organised. For some reason, I particularly enjoyed just sitting on the floor (not many chairs, and too many kids) and eating a simple meal of plain rice and curry with my hands - it suited my convalescent needs perfectly, and there's something both primitive and simple about just eating with your hands that makes even plain rice taste better. Maybe it was the seasoning of epithelials, sloughed off from my skin.
The whole of today was spent in bed, cradling a hot water bottle (how I ever got through childhood without one I don't know, so comforting they are) and watching CSI on continuous loop on TV. I am completely CSI-saturated: every piece of lint and litter suddenly looked like epithelials (hence the above comment) and clothing fibres. Sudden urge to gingerly pick up random pieces of lint and cat hair with tweezers and bag it.
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