Dear everybody,
I am sorry to say that there is no diary entry tonight, because in the words of the famous newspaper, just adapted a bit to suit my circumstances, Sarah Ibbetson is unwell.
This is not strictly true either.
What I mean is that Sarah Ibbetson is about to be very unwell indeed, starting tomorrow when I wake up, if I last that long, and quite possibly considerably sooner.
In fact I have drunk so much that it is entirely possible that I might die first. Should this unfortunate event be the consequence of my overindulgence, please will everybody chip in to help Mark pay the school fees until they have finished, and please will Number One Daughter come and get the dog back, you could probably do this and my funeral at the same time to save making two trips.
In fact the dog is settling reasonably well, in a tiresome dog sort of way. That is to say, it has pooed on the floor, eaten an enormous quantity of Christmas chocolate that has inadvertently fallen off the tree, and barked a lot at about three o’ clock in the morning. Apart from that it has been hardly any trouble at all.
Roger Poopy is enjoying his brother’s company very much indeed. They have fought and wrestled and chewed bits of one another until everybody has shouted at them to shut up. One of them has eaten my new flip flops. I know really that this was Roger Poopy but I have told all of the dogs that I am cross about it just to make sure that nobody feels left out.
We had some visitors tonight.
We have got some friends coming across to look after the dogs whilst we are in Manchester next week. They are going to stay in our house. They don’t mind the dogs being tiresome and rascally and eating flip flops because their dog has just died, and so they are seeing all those wicked irritating things through a rosy haze of doglessness.
It was their visit that has put me into this terrible state. I was quite all right before they turned up.
I am not all right now, and Mark is worse. All we wanted to do was explain how the fire works and how to boil the kettle when you need hot water. Unfortunately I forgot almost all of that and now am so much under the influence of the terrible drink that I can hardly walk straight.
Drink is a terrible thing.
I was only trying to be sociable.
I was very sociable, and we had a very nice time. I laughed a great deal, the thing was that being a polite hostess, I had got to keep refilling everybody’s glasses when they emptied them. Obviously I did my own as well in order that they would not feel awkward.
I am going to be very unwell tomorrow.
I don’t have a picture at all. I thought about putting yesterday’s on again but thought that probably would be rubbish, so I have gone through my picture library and chosen one at random.
That is why you have got a picture of a youthful Roger Poopy.
He is about three times that size now, and smells worse.
Goodness me, I am intoxicated.
Please think kindly of me in the morning.
