Demure Debauchery

The clocks have changed and so have I. I’m walking around with a newfound passion for life, almost ethereal, like I’ve just discovered wine, floating around in complete and utter brilliance. I’m not in love no, unless you mean with myself, for this weekend, remarkably, I didn’t get a hangover. It’s probably the first time in several months that I’ve woken up the other side of being white girl wasted on various liquors to my normal bouncy self. Smug doesn’t quite cover it, especially as I’d had champagne which I was worried I was going to have to cut out completely if the vomming and heart palpitations continued. Alas, Laurent-Perrier treated me well and so our relationship can last at least a little longer, a summer romance if you will. Perhaps it was the advice my friend Tom lent me on Friday evening, to eat pork as soon as I woke up, perhaps it was the yoga in the middle of the week or perhaps I’m simply Benjamin Buttoning my way into summer 2018, guns fully loaded. “Don’t forget Leeds,” my friends warn me as I tell them I can’t wait to get wasted again to see if I’m cured completely. Frankly, I have banished Leeds from my mind and so has my liver it seems, it’s seen the light.

Makes a nice change to my usual garbage about feeling sorry for myself doesn’t it? And you’ll be pleased to know I took full advantage of my health by going to the beach with three friends from hunting who are also fully-functioning alcoholics, Ed, Lou and Zoe. We stopped at Sainsbury’s on route to stock up on beer and elderflower infused gin & tonics and had the most fantastic day in Hunstanton. The trouble is, when hunting comes to an end in March and the foxes go off sunbathing and family planning, we’re left at a bit of a loose end. Saturday’s are meant for drinking port from 11am onwards are they not? How do we make this socially acceptable in the summer…well what if we take the horses to the beach? Take some beer? It seemed like the obvious answer and the horses were definitely pleased to be back with their mates. Zoe and Lou are off skiing this weekend where a hip flask is an essential accessory. Then we’ve all got hunt balls, holidays, racing, point-to-point’s and various debaucherous fun to tide us over until the season starts again in the autumn.

Continued below beach pictures….

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One particular hunt ball was on Saturday evening with the Fitzwilliam Hunt who have become experts in espionage this season. Unfortunately they have had quite a lot of problems with hunt saboteurs – people who like a free day out hunting so wear a balaclava – which has led to all sorts of different meetings, such fun. I think they were most relieved to be able to celebrate as normal at the end of the season and although I’ve only visited them a couple of days this year I always like to support the ball. In true indecent fashion I took some contraband with me, a bottle of Laurent-Perrier, for blogging purposes obviously, which just about avoided getting confiscated, the prosecco wasn’t so lucky. They’d even left an ice bucket on the table, so the champagne was lovely and cold, and it didn’t give me a hangover so it’s my new favourite champagne. Waitrose also currently have 25% off various fizz, this included, it was £43 and now it’s £31.99, what’s not to love. Taste wise it’s very clear, crisp and refreshing with a pleasant acidity. It’s not too biscuity which is a nice change, it doesn’t shout ‘I’m champagne’ and give you bad breath, it’s much classier than that.

I don’t think I had any other wine this weekend apart from some Casillero Del Diablo with a beef stew on Sunday evening. I had lots of rum and coke, several apple sours shots and as I mentioned, those lovely pre-mixed Gordon’s elderflower gin and tonics which are just so yummy. The beef stew was for the Student Cross walkers who Mum always takes in at this time of year, obviously, because it’s Easter. It’s always an interesting evening, a memorable quote from last night would have to be in response to discussing one of Britain’s finest breakfast delicacies, “You can’t tell if it’s a bad sausage until it’s in your mouth,” ain’t that the truth.

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