Moroccan Chicken Sandwich

The title has nothing to do with the content but the title deserves to be as bizarre as the morning. My sandwich was called ‘Moroccan Chicken’ so why can’t my post?

It is not even 8 in the morning and already the oddest series of events has taken place, so odd that not even my emotions or ability to respond to them has worked out how to react.

I thought I was just waking up with your typical hangover; dehydrated, desert mouth, a fuzzy feeling of forgetfulness and a burning hot knee (I fell over in my ridiculously high shoes which are promptly going in the bin by the way, I have suffered more than enough war wounds to feel justified that they should find a new home with Stig) but it turns out that’s not enough for me to have to deal with on a hazy Sunday morning.

Checking your phone after a night of sambuca and cheap white wine is never recommended. It’s probably best to leave that type of thing until about a week later when you’re original hungover promise to ‘never drink again’ finally fails and you can afford a large glass of anything alcoholic to accompany you while you check the phone. It doesn’t help that modern technology means your phone isn’t just a phone, it’s all forms of communication in one place, so you’re not just checking your voicemail, you’re also checking your texts, email, facebook and sny other social network you might be a part of.

I had an email to say I’d won the lottery (I later found out it’s only £10 so I’ll just move that pink pony and world trip order back to the wish list), I also had an email from my gas company asking for a meter reading and the obligatory sales pitch email.

I had a text from someone wanting to have a serious chat, at nearly 1 in the morning which is no time to be organising social events.

I then had a facebook message from a girl I’ve never met before who apparently found my bag and hunted me down through friends of friends of friends lists. I didn’t even know I had lost my bag… So when I meet this woman I will be presenting her with a lovely bunch of flowers bought with my lottery winnings.  It’s nice to know there are still people out there that don’t empty your wallet, I feel that my faith in humanity is restored just that little bit more. Tis the season and all that!

Just as I think my chaotic morning will end, I find blood on my leopard print coat. Don’t worry, not enough to suggest murder, I think it’s one of the after effects of my knee saying hello to the pavement. There aren’t many times in one’s life that requires the question ‘how to get blood out of faux fur?’ to be written into google. But it turns out I’m not the only one in this world that has that misfortune!

And last but not least – Dave the cat decided I hadn’t had enough to deal with in one morning and decided to be ill in the night. Yay.

So, with everything cleaned, covered and hidden away, I’ve locked myself in my quiet place, with a cup of tea, hoping I will wake up any minute now and find out this was all a dream. A beautifully confusing little sambuca induced dream.

I’m going to need a bigger Moroccan Chicken sandwich.

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