"Martha Stewart Eat Your Heart Out"

"Going..."

"...going..."

"Gone!"

 Yesterday afternoon found me trawling the internet for the BESTEST ever Christmas punch recipe...and Ms. Stewart suggested a pomegranate/cranberry based concoction which went down a storm (to disclose the rest of the ingredients would be both pointless because it was very much an ad lib exercise in mixology AND possibly heighten the hangovers of all our Christmas party attendees last night, who do NOT want to know exactly how many bottles of vodka were sacrificed to the cause...hiccup).

At any rate, it was a most splendid affair - our Christmas Party of 2013.  Only when you have the occasion to gather so many of your nearest, dearest and queerest, do you realise how many brilliant mates you have.  And we are very lucky in that respect.

But enough gushing.  Today sees me paying penance for last night's frivolities, though I must confess my hurting head is so worth it.  There is nothing quite like a Christmas party.  The invite specified cheesy xmas jumpers and/or glitter (don't have to tell you which one i went for) and at one point I do recall our kitchen being the epicentre of all things rave-tastic, with the room jammed full of people laughing dancing shouting with glee and exhibiting all manner of imaginative dance moves.  Brilliant.

So here I sit, unable to do much save propel sugary coated biscuit after biscuit into my mouth, in the hopes that an insulin fuelled burst of energy might propel me off the sofa and out of my prone position and out the door.

Oh who am I kidding.  My future forecast for the rest of the day involves no more than a third attempt to wash last nights heavy eye make up off my panda-esque eyes - and a gooey cheesy pizza at some point.  Yes, definitely a pizza.

I suspect all will be perfectly tickitty-boo in my world then.  There are few things in life that a magnificent pizza can't fix.  Including a broken head :)