I have some last minute Christmas shopping to do, so I drive to North Walsham this morning (after walking the dog) and have a wander around the shops looking for some inspiration. I don’t find any, so I decide to have a look in Cromer instead.
I’m swiftly losing the will to live because I can’t find anything suitable for the remaining gifts that I need to buy. Everything that I want to buy is out of stock until the new year – that should teach me not to leave it to the last minute next time (but it won’t!).
This evening we are going for a (belated birthday) drink for my wife with her mum and dad in The Vernon Arms. The pub is surprisingly empty for a Saturday night, so we manage to get the coveted armchair and sofa in front of the open fire. My voice is really bad at the moment, at least to my ears. I’m slurring like a drunkard before I’ve even had a sniff of my beer, and I’m sure my wife’s parents think I have been drinking all day. Three pints of Abbot Ale and a small Dalwhinnie later, and I’m struggling to make myself understood (and, although I know that I’ve had some drink, I’m certainly not drunk). The lateness of the hour doesn’t help, either – tiredness alone can adversely affect my voice, and it’s 1am before my wife’s parents leave us to get to bed.