You say Hiccough, I say Hiccup

Bacon, avocado, rocket and egg sandwich.

Almond croissant.

I have a fuzzy sort of a recollection of having come home on Saturday night and written a post about hiccups, and then accidentally having deleted it because I was trying to write it on my phone -- and, well, I suppose you can guess why I had the hiccups.

I've always found they rather cheer one up. I suppose I associate them with laughing too hard: giggling oneself into a state of reflexive hysteria. Everything is more amusing when you have hiccups. Except broken ribs (I have this on authority).

P.S. The missing breakfast was a bacon and scrambled egg roll -- chez Mr and Mrs, and Miss S.

A Drunk and Debauched Recycling Box

Bacon roll.

Our red recycling box has been on a five-day bender. I just found it filthy and disorderly outside a bar, reeking of fags and booze.

The blue one pulled the last disappearing act, resurfacing some weeks later, following what may have been a torrid affair with a neighbour. I found it a street away, sitting dejectedly on the pavement, a chip missing from one corner (we never mistreat them so).

It's as though a life as a receptacle for empty receptacles weren't fulfilling enough.

The Two Most Antithetical Words in the English Language

Bacon roll

With four girls, two bottles of wine and plenty of wit, somewhere along the way this evening the subject of cervical smears came up, and with it, the most unlikely word pairing of all time -- schooch and relax.

You schooch, and you relax, you speculum wielding monster!

Just Add Wine, and Whisky

Bacon rolio

Take one group of old friends, add wine, whisky, plenty of melted cheese, and some good music and you will dance 'til three in the morning, throw shapes to TSwift with a philosopher, watch your most high-powered friend belt out a Tina Turner classic with a hairbrush, and realise that we'll all still be friends whatever happens on Thursday.

Megalomaniacal Wines

Bacon roll

Mostly I am but scantily tolerant of the existence of other Iona's. I encounter relatively few, and those whom I didn't grow up knowing about I am at some level deeply suspicious of. Their existence seems somehow to threaten my own, as though there were room for only a few Iona's before the edges started to blur. That was before I discovered I was the maker of a delicious Pinot Noir…

I already knew about my guise as a Sauvignon Blanc and a Chardonnay, but tonight I met Mr P… Apparently, "Mr P knows Pinots"… As wine for megalomaniacs goes, I'm in.

Breakfast the One-Hundred-and-Thirty-Seventh

Cinnamon & raisin bagel with raspberry jam and a kiwi and other green things smoothie.

This evening I had chocolate chip cookies for supper. Home-made ones. And wine. I think we can all agree that this is an entirely reasonable sort of thing to sup on of a Thursday night.

Breakfast the Fifty-Third

No photo today, I can't connect my camera to the extremely tiny device that I'm writing this on. I had doppelgänger shreddies and banana.

I'll have to be brief. Firstly because I'm too ham-fisted for touch technology and secondly, because I'm travelling backwards on the train and am in danger of losing my supper.

I got ID'd buying wine this evening, which rather made my day. Until I couldn't find my ID. Happily, the shop assistant realized, after my exhaustive search of my handbag, that I probably wasn't 17 and let me have my vino.

Breakfast the Forty-Fourth

Muesli and banana. 

I've had far too much wine to write anything of any consequence (not that I ever do really). I can merely advise that falling over in yoga class is infectious: once one person goes, the whole room goes.

Also, I'm rather intrigued by the BBC's South Riding. I haven't watched the first episode yet. But I'm looking forward to it. I do so love a good costume drama, and this one has the glorious Penelope Wilton in it, which can't be bad.

Breakfast the Nineteenth

Bananas! (One eaten after lunch in the end.)

Breakfast on the run again.

This evening I arrived at a bar for a quiet drink only to find it distinctly non-quiet and stuffed with hot dogs (or rather people dressed as hot dogs). Like the party-animals we are, my drinking (and also running) partner and I vetoed this and one more bar before beating a hasty retreat for my home, and a bottle of wine.

A half-bottle later, I agreed to do a half-marathon. Then I trotted off to a hot dog free bar, and helped with the last of today's Guardian quick crossword. Oh the hedonism.