The National Lottie

I awake on a floating raft. The smell of sea air tickles my nostrils. The sun burns my eyes. My body aches and my head is spinning. Then I realise- I am in my bed and I have the mother of all hangovers.

I turn to the body lying next to me. This is not my boyfriend. What the hell happened? Why is it so quite? How is it 2pm? I check. I have all my clothes on. Phew!

Cocktail Night #2 went down a storm. I have never seen such a bizarre mix of alcohol in all my life.

To avoid spending the evening in the kitchen with the shaker, I had a cocktail master-class. In the end we resorted to post-its.

It still wasn’t sinking in after the third class so Darren tried a new tact. Thanks for that!

I still too hungover to write anything above the literacy level of a 4 year old and they say a picture says a thousand words.

So:-

“Narf”

“You’re the one that I want!

“The Baastids tied my head to my foot”

“I have to do the walk of shame”

“There’s no more space on the fridge”

“99, 100. Here I come ready or not”

“Hit me baby one more time”

“See, men can multi-task too”

Now where did I leave the Nurofen?

Granted – The Kilkenny boys were very funny – but perhaps not the best footballers in the world!

After a long night of sex on the beach (the drink not the bold thing) we wandered down to the Seafront at 5.10am to watch the sun rise over the sea.

What a fun night.