I avoided the horror that is Dawborn (a vile exhibition of the depths of bad behaviour the Drones are capable of here on the Mothership) and went to the party that the Male and his household were throwing. It was a select gathering (mainly because their house can't hold that many people).

"You just wait," J² declared. "By the end of the night, I'll look like Catherine Zeta Jones."

We played strip 500, which got off to a blinding start with J² and myself taking the Male and Z 10-nil in the opening hand. We denied them the next one as well, and then they won five in a row. Barefoot and jumperless, I suggested we move on to strip poker, since J² was being stupid and I hated having to undress for his silly mistakes.

I was on my third - or was it fourth? - beer by this stage. I don't drink beer. Especially not the bloody awful pigswill that is VB. I don't eat pizza either. Apparently I hadn't got the memo, though.

Anyway, we didn't have any chips, so strip poker never eventuated, and I wandered around being cold until I gave in and put my jumper back on. J² was down to his thermal underwear above the waist, but then again, he was still wearing one sock.

The Male and I sat on the back steps this morning, eating Weet Bix and watching it rain. It was a moment out of time, and beautifully relaxing. Later, there was old-skool Metallica, and contemplation of how the wax got into the carpet. Later still, there was Werewolf and junk food.

The hangover seems to have gone, thank goodness.

But by far the best thing about the weekend was that I missed Dawborn.

By the way, I've been reviewed by the Weblog Review. Read the things they say about me here. Now I'm off to bed. Or at least to Civ II.