Sunday, Monday, happy days...

So I fell off a curb today, because this is how I spend my in-between library time. And I realized that before my own clumsiness or a London cabbie kills me, I think I should update my blog. Oh, the priorities. I spent a day and a half recovering after a weekend long high school reunion, which left me broken in body, but quite uplifted in soul. 

Naturally, the first, Friday, night was a bit awkward, trying to sum your life up in the past 7 years, to people you are not even sure care, can be dull. Of course this was only until the boy arrived who makes everybody drink. Heavily. After that conversation became more or less meaningless, but a whole lot more entertaining. S, my true best friend from those days, and I caught several night buses until we made it from Brick Lane to Notting Hill, but time flew by as we drunkenly stumbled around London. 

Saturday, we spent the whole, beautifully sunny day, trying to get from NH to Barbican to check out Céleste Boursier-Mougenot's new installation, The Curve. A musical composition with zebra finches flying around, decking out and feeding themselves sick on top of electric guitars connected to amps and creating some truly weird sounds of Mother Nature's rock'n'roll. Dinner was pleasant, but the banging club music at Tiger Tiger a little later didn't really help the long over due catch up, but the vodka sure flew abundantly. So much, in fact, that true to form I tripped on some stairs and ended up breaking off my boot heel completely. Thank god, S found it, but as there wasn't anyway of reattaching it I elegantly limped around for the rest of the night. I'm not sure I fell because the heel came off or I just TUI (Tripped Under the Influence haha) and consequently the boot fell apart. It is a very egg or chicken conundrum. Not surprisingly, I didn't remember this significant moment until the next day, when looking for something else, I found the missing part of the footgear in my bag.

Sunday turned out to be much more debaucherous than planned. Instead of a quiet stroll through Camden market, we managed to get tangled up in several bottles of wine with two other old mates and ended up having a rockingly great catch up time, which really felt like how a reunion should feel like.  

Monday brought a hangover to die from after my head has rolled away to an undefined location. S, left in the morning, I'm not sure how; I was still dying. Was dying through most of Tuesday too, although that may have been only a case of severe laziness, and Wednesday I finally got my ass to the library. So now that I most carefully, and less so entertainingly walked you through my week, here I will stop, and promise not to write anymore, because, well I will be in the library. And I try not to use 'boring' as a deadly weapon. Cheerio.