Saturday, 25 May 2013

Pissed as a Handbagless Newt - with a moral.........

Bladdered, rat-arsed, shit-faced, wrecked, hammered, mortaled, pissed, tired and emotional, off ones face, legless, giroscoped, etc etc..........I was NONE of these things when I managed to leave my handbag in the pub last night after the charity event I attended.  I was, in fact, merely slightly inebriated.  The problem was, I had won a bag in the raffle. You see - it's all making sense now, to any lady readers out there, that is. 

I got up to leave and grabbed ONE coat and ONE bag.  Had I but looked at either the bag or it's contents, I'd have smelled a fish, or rather, in this case, meat because my prize had been donated by that most excellent of butchers (known here as Charlie Barley) - not to be confused with who are equally wonderful at providing dead animal related products (I'm a butcher's daughter - love my - oh, you see, I would have said "meat " there but I just know someone out there would have sniggered - ffs). What the afore mentioned bag contained was: a whole black pudding, a mug and a bottle of gin - not sure what part of an animal the last two come off but, fuck it, biology was never my strong suit.  If it had been my handbag it would have contained: many tissues, a purse, at least three pens (you don't want to be halfway through a good idea when the ink runs out), a notebook, various sanitary items  - in case (in case what?! There's a biblical style flood! How many do I need in there!!) and a mini calculator from the British Museum (or "The House of Nicking Stuff When  Natives Aren't Looking", as I found it to be - however much I enjoyed it - until my brain went: "No more information, please, for pity sakes - NO MORE INFORMATION..........).

When my alarm went off at 7am, my first thought was:" Get stuffed you annoying, beeping wanker", my second was "man, I'm bursting", my third was, "KITTENS - GET UP, SHOWER, Andrea and Evelyn's kitty cats need grub .  So, I got up, and before leaving the chambre de kip, did a quick inventory of stuff that should be present: bra - check; jeans - check; socks and shoes - check and check, rather nice blouse I bought for my daughter in Nice - check, other items of clothing - oh, hell I'm still wearing them; jacket - check (thankfully, not still wearing); handbag.....handbag...HANDBAG  AWOL!!!!!!!! 

My initial thought was I'd pranked myself.  I do that, sometimes, on the rare occasion I go out. Drunk Dorothy thinks it's really funny to do crap to "amuse" sober Dorothy the next morning. Sober, hungover Dorothy has yet to laugh at any of the amusing antics pulled off by drunk Dorothy - hence the reason that before I went out I got my lovely son, Angus, to hide my laptop.

Anyway, back to my handbag - a charming piece, made by my friend and handbag designer, Anna Mairi - in Harris Tweed. It's home now and every pound note, shilling, pence and sanitary item is accounted for, thanks Donald Smith, a Tolsta dude, who happened to be venturing beyond the cattle grid today.

The moral is: if you are going to drink enough booze to sink a battleship, Velcro everything you are taking with you and slap them on to yourself when you start to talk gibberish. Sound advice.  I thank you.

TUNE: has to be - "The Sharpest Lives" - from The Black Parade, My Chemical Romance.


  1. Hilarious, and I applaud you for using words like 'wanker'in blog posts. I am so with you on this one - I no longer go out and get mortal (it's said without the past tense in Geordie land!) but I had years and years of doing so and totally get where this is coming from!!

  2. Thanks Terry :)) - interesting "mortal" and "mortalled" either way, you definitely feel that way the next day.......I did.