Get used to knowing where the nearest loo is at all times

Its fab to be back in the land of the living. I feel great and even though its 11pm; I have no intention of leaving Ginny & Tom’s fancy dress engagement party.

They’ve just bought their first house and decided to throw a wild party before they decorate. Its got fantastic retro-swirly carpets and chipboard wallpaper with damp patches. My favourite feature is the little hatch in the wall so you can shout your order into the kitchen from the sitting room.

I have come as Dolly Parton [obviously] and Special Bloke has come as Elvis. Ginny’s lethal punch has kicked in and the most unlikely pairings of celebrities are dancing with each other. A Bay City Roller is chatting up Madonna while Boy George boogies with Buzz Light-year. I’m on the 7up and have been warned by Ginny and Tom to avoid the cupcakes and jelly shapes because they have er…’stuff’ in it.

Oh bugger, there’s a massive queue outside the one and only loo. ‘We think Miss Piggy and Indiana Jones have got it together in there’ the girl ahead smiles knowingly. Well bully for them. I’m DESPERATE! ‘I scoot outside and recky the small patio and postage stamp of grass with the intention of relieving myself in the open air. Small groups of smokers occupy the well-lit garden. Bugger. I have to pee. Now!

I spy an empty tin of pineapple chunks; grab it and run into the utility room. I lock the door and sigh as I squat down and pee to my hearts content into the empty tin. Ah heaven! I head out holding my produce at arms length ahead of me. Before I even close the door, Boy George has whipped the pineapple tin out of my hand and poured it into the punch. I am horrified!! I follow him over and try to prevent him from drinking it but he is already swigging heartily. Now I know that some people actually drink their own pee for health reasons. It is on this basis that I don’t phone the toxicology department at the nearest hospital. That and well the sheer mortification of fessing up that I peed into a can in the utility room. I’d never hear the end of it.

I make a point of finding Special Bloke to warn him off the punch. He turns around; munching a cupcake and necking back a glass of punch. I say nothing and just smile faintly. I am such a bad person. What kind of mother will I make at all?