Pregnant Drinks

So, I'm now 18 weeks pregnant.  I've finally reached that glorious middle ground where I no longer have crazy hunger/simultaneous food aversions and somehow (most days) I feel replenished with the energy which has evaded me these last  few months.

My appetite has come back with a bang - and although I'm currently (guiltily) restocking on much-missed carbs and other food groups, I'm also back to some kind of routine, meaning I'm not in bed by 7.30p.m each night (hello T.V catch up!)

Thus I am able to once again work as hard as I ever have and, when the chance occurs, sit down and relax, enjoying my evening with my favourite snacks and drinks.

Except, I can of course no longer settle in front of House with a beer, or sneak a wee cheeky glass of wine while soaking in the bath with a good book.

I do love a drink.

Having worked in various bars over the years, I've got a pretty wide palette when it comes to alcohol and I do enjoy certain drinks based on season or mood.

Summer? A nice cold wine spritzer or cold raspberry cider.

Winter? A hearty Guinness, or a nice smooth Merlot.

Christmas time? Baileys, mulled wine or schnapps.

Party time? Tequila! Morgans and coke or a speciality bottled beer.

I love a malt whisky, I take great delight in supping a freshly brewed local ale and I know my way around a wine cellar.

Unfortunately, being pregnant kind of scuppers the joy a little.

Sure, over Christmas and even my birthday, I was unusually not bothered about drinking.  All day morning sickness kind of just makes you grateful for the small things in life, like super-cold fresh orange juice and ice cubes.

Over the last few weeks, I've started to be jealous of Dave when he cracks open a 'real' beer on a weekend.  True, he doesn't do it often, but my pregnant nose can discern the difference instantly; the oaky, hoppy notes of the beer, the alcohol, the sweetness of it just teases me like nothing else.

The bottles of Prosecco we were gifted for Christmas sit on the side, winking at me  with their cheeky wee corks cages poking out from the black foil binding.

There's nothing quite like a hearty glass or two of chilled Prosecco of an evening, if you are so lucky.

In a bid to find some kind of satisfying replacement, I've tried to adapt my tasting skills to the vast array of non-alcoholic alternatives available.

I'm determined to find joy elsewhere; after all there are so many amazing fruity blends out there just now, and certainly more than when I was last pregnant.

Have I been satisfied?  Well, I have to say, I've been pleasantly surprised.  There's a lot of rather lovely alternatives out there which I could happily relax with after hours (or before hours!), pregnant or not.

Here's a few I've tried.


BECKS BLUE, ALCOHOL FREE

Coming in at around the £3.50 mark for 6 standard-sized bottles, Becks Blue is a nice, cheap alternative to your generic lager.  If you like Becks normally, you might be so inclined to like this too.  In fact, I think I like it a wee bit better than Becks.  There's something about the alcohol Becks which can make it quite a tough drink if you're not in the mood for it.  I used to drink it as a student, but as my taste buds developed, I got more of a taste for the richer, smoother lagers, like Kronenbourg. Becks Blue is good - I would go as far as to say it's a wee bit moreish if it's cold enough.  It doesn't dry you out, nor does it feel too heavy.  I find this one makes a real week-night treat.

BITBURGER 0.0%

This beer made me so, so sad.  Dave and I had gone out for an amazing anniversary meal at the fabulous Rancho Pancho in Dundee (the best Mexican restaurant ever!) and once again, as chief driver, and this time, chief PREGNANT driver, I sat surrounded by the finest Tequilas and most amazing Mexican beers, lagers and cocktails going, while promising myself of an epic night of drinking at the Rancho soon. 

*sigh*

All was not lost, however.  Despite being amazingly busy (on the first Monday night after New Year, no less) and despite not listing any non-alcoholic cocktails on their drinks menu, when asked, the lovely (and very pressed for time) waitress made me a gorgeous peach and strawberry slushy cocktail which easily rivaled whatever else was on the menu. It was a real treat. Dave of course could and did tuck into a rather tasty Mexican lager, which was honestly delicious (yes I'm allowed to taste - I'm not a total martyr!), although the name escapes me just now (and they've changed the online menu so you can't see their lagers), all I know it was not Dos Equis, but a very similar tasting cerveza,  which was super easy on the palate and really refreshing.

Sadly, our sojourn at Rancho was over too quickly, and we were faced with the same dilemma which faces us ever anniversary (damn you, January wedding!) - a real lack of any open bars where we could settle for a drink.  Plus, we live quite far from town centre now and being knackered and elderly, we decided to choose a premises closer to home.

Our local of choice, like many others, took the opportunity on that quiet January night to have a bit of down time, thus we ended up in our local Chef & Brewer, The Bell Tree, which we thought was a safe bet on the quality front.

I have to say, we were sorely disappointed.  I'm not one to call a place usually on the standard of fare available, rather I usually just not mention it at all, but it's the first time for a while where we have left our drinks more than half finished.

Having been a bar person, I would always much rather take the issue to the bar at the time, but in this case, there was one bar person, it was a very quiet bar and it felt like more hassle than it was worth for a couple of drinks.  Dave had a rather flat, fousty-smelling Kronenbourg, and I ordered the only non-alcoholic beer available, which was the Bitburger.

The smell alone put me off. Bitburger has a distinctive hoppy smell to it, which I didn't find very pleasant and I think it was an odd one to have as an only choice for those who fancy a non-alcoholic beer.  It was a bit flat, a bit thick and left a smoky kind of aftertaste. I felt like it was chosen by someone who hadn't tasted it - like they simply wanted to fill the non-alcoholic gap in the bar.  After the stops that Rancho pulled to make me feel all special on the soft-drinks front, this was a sad, and kind of brutal alternative. 

A poor end to an otherwise fabulous night!

ERDINGER ALCOHOL FREE 0.5%

Right, stop the train!  This is a helluvanawesome drink. So awesome, apparently I just made up a new word to describe it. I first encountered the Erdinger Alcoholfrei on a night out while I was still completely off food and hadn't really told anyone my huge preggers secret yet.  In a bid to appear like I was drinking and to, er, throw others off the scent, I asked the bar staff at Drouthy Neebors what they could suggest on the alcohol-free front.  They had two different things to try, a nice wee bottle by Brewdog (more on that later) and the Erdinger.

Being a bit of an Erdinger lover, I was a bit worried about trying it out - after all the preggers/driving version is never as satisfying as the real thing, and plus, I was still feeling a bit dodgy: what if it put me off Erdinger completely?

Given the correct Erdinger glass to pour into (Erdinger glasses are coveted in the bar trade as for one, they are expensive and for another, Erdinger is a very special beer which only looks good in the long, tall, thin and beautiful Erdinger glass.  Which is why they end up in a lot of handbags, I guess.)  The way Erdinger pours, it's supposed to have a rather tall head, which just adds to the sexiness of the lager beer.  It's an almost creamy liquid which is golden in colour and never disappoints - I'm yet to be served a bad pint of this stuff.

The bottled alcoholfrei version also did not disappoint. In fact - it's pretty much a super drink.  Check out the blurb (I always read the blurb - I'm such a beer geek):

ERDINGER Alkoholfrei - The Refreshing Isotonic Recovery Drink.

ERDINGER Alkoholfrei is a refreshing isotonic recovery drink. It provides the body with essential vitamins such as folic acid and vitamin B12 which help reduce fatigue, promote energy-yielding metabolism and support the immune system. Just one bottle (0.5l) of ERDINGER Alkoholfrei is a daily contribution to a healthy nutrition.

ERDINGER Alkoholfrei is brewed under the strict Bavarian Purity Law, which means it is made from only highest quality, natural ingredients. Not alcohol free for the purpose of UK Food Law.

I mean - come on! Isotonic? Folic Acid? Reduces fatigue? Supports the immune system?

Hello!  This is THE drink to have while pregnant, no?

It was very tasty, very satisfying, and yes, I went back for more. It even poured with the head on it. I swear it even made me feel a little bit less sick, which is odd.  Maybe the blurb had psychosomatic effects?

Either way, this drink is a doozy, look out for it.  The only down side I suppose, is it can be quite pricey, even in the supermarkets, so it's definitely just a rare treat. It is to be savoured and enjoyed though - definitely not a middle of the road alternative, which is the most refreshing part about all this.  It's nice to feel special when you need to.

BREWDOG NANNY STATE

I think I love Brewdog.

I love them, because they bring so much character to their beers, ales and lagers, in a friendly tongue-in-cheek kind of way which I totally get.

The bottled stuff regularly appears in places like Aldi and  Lidl, where you can pick up a cheeky wee brew for a cheeky wee night at home cheap enough, while still pretending that you're young enough and cool enough to be hanging out round the new Brewdog bar (you know, if it wasn't for the damned kids needing to be babysat and having no babysitter and so on...chuh!)

The name alone of this wee beer raised a nod and smile of approval from me when I picked it up in my local supermarket.  I'm sure the good folks at Brewdog didn't have us preggers beer fans in mind when they concocted this brew, but still, it resonated with me; at no other time in my life do I feel as nannied as when I am expecting.  There are so many rules - do this, don't do that, don't EVER try this - it becomes a fine balance between trying to live your life as comfortably as you can while adhering to the long, long list of advisory and statutory bits of advice, information and commands.

The  tasting notes are thus:

Big fruity up front and in your face aroma with a medley of ripe citrus, orange, sherbet lemon and lychee. Herbal and piny edges add a touch of balance. On the pallet the 100% of speciality malts work hard to balance out the barrage of Humulus lupulus we throw at this beer.  Amber and crystal malts add some biscuit sweetness which is quickly balanced and overcome with more fruity hop and resinous flavours and then these cleanse the palate and transcend into a long, refreshing and quinine bitter finish.

Which sums up why I do love Brewdog - they aren't sacrificing taste for lack of alcohol, which is very much appreciated.  A bit rougher than the old Erdinger, which is what I would expect, Nanny State hits the hoppy, tasty spot. Perfect when you want something a bit tastier than lager, but a bit cheaper than Erdinger. Yum!

SCHLOER

Sometimes you just want wine.

I'm not saying Schloer is going to do it for you, but it's a pretty great alternative.  I honestly believe, having tried and tested many 'juice' products in the same guise, that Schloer still holds the crown as far as a wine alternative goes.  It's sweet, it's moreish, it's fizzy and best of all, if you really are looking to fool your friends at the beginning of pregnancy into thinking you are still drinking, the colour and character of this stuff really does the trick (just make sure you hide the bottle - brown paper bag for authenticity?)

What's more, special occasion? Don't feel like you are missing out - you can still enjoy the same old rigmaroll of popping a cork and pouring some fizz.  Yep, Schloer have certainly tapped into the whole pregnant lady needs a drink thing, and have produced a rather special looking Bubbly version in pink and white, which isn't too expensive at all for a special occasion drink.

Not bad, eh? I bought these for Christmas, determined not to miss out on the drinky fun. By that point though, I had been drinking a bottle every weekend (to myself!  You can't do that with fizzy wine!  Well - you can, but not without an epic hangover) and thus I think it had lost its appeal by then.  But I do still enjoy it.  It's just that I would enjoy a dry Frixienet Brut or glass of Prosecco a wee bit more. I find Schloer a bit sweet sometimes, especially as my normal wine tipple would be dry, but I am extremely happy to pull this out as an alternative. In fact, I have pulled it out in wine glasses for appreciative visiting drivers who also enjoy feeling like they've had a specialdrink without having a special drink, so job done, Schloer! Good work!

Well, I've yammered on enough now, so I suppose I'll stop there.  I realise there's a whole world of stuff yet to try, but these are the only ones I have seen available - and trust me, I've been looking!  I'm still quite surprised at the recent surge in low/non alcoholic beverages available now, which is a welcome change. The last time I was pregnant, I was literally limited to Schloer and Kaliber.  It's really great to see some breweries taking the initiative to produce some viable and tasty alternatives.

Have you had any really tasty non-alcoholic beers/wines/ciders?  I'd love to hear any suggestions!

Why I Completely Suck At Being An Adult

1. I haven't been to the hairdressers for 3 years.  I cut my own fringe in.  I dye my own hair with packet dye.  Admittedly, I've stopped picking up shades of Powerful Pink and  Brazen Blue and Electric Purple and dreaming of fantastic transformations via semi-permanent, but still, I'm living in denial about the amount of grey coverage Raving Red gives my crowning glory.

   

   See (9)

2. I get I.D'd for alcohol all the time but instead of getting happy and whipping out my I.D while musing how fabulous and young I still look, I just act like a petulant teenager, because, guess what?  I left my I.D at home. Again.  I should, quite frankly, know better.
3.  I want nice furniture, but am I hell paying that much for a sideboard.  Why is furniture so expensive?  Who knew?  I can't reconcile my love of *nice* furniture with actually spending cold hard cash on it.  I'm not there yet.
   
4. I can't do anything I want.  I spent my whole childhood being told that 'when you grow up, you can do what you want to do'.  LIES!  I've never felt so constrained by life before growing up.  Now everything is complicated and hard and expensive and I am tired.  I need beer, but I'll get I.D'd at the shop, dammit. And my kids ate all my nice food.
5. My washing is never done.  Ever.  Even that one magical day where the washing basket was empty and all of the clothes were away, I found a pair of jeans and two nearly-mouldy jumpers in the boot of my car.  I got complacent in my victory, which is the reason why Washing Mount Fuji has reappeared.
6. I cannot eat whatever I want.  Apparently when I hit adulthood, my fat gene got turned on. I'm trying to eat healthy, but it's so hard.  I'm in more need of comfort food than I have ever been before. School runs will do that to a gal.

   

   Guess who got to move the stuff when we moved house on her own?

7. I don't really like driving.  As the sole driver in the house, it's sometimes freedom, but mainly it just means that I'm saddled doing all of the jobs nobody else really wants to do, you know, because I'm the one with the car. It's not the freedom I was led to believe it would be...
8. I'm hanging onto my youth like some kind of crazy person.  Seriously - I just threw out a cardigan that I bought with my first wage when I was 13.  But only because it had holes at the sleeves.  Until then I hadn't even thought about being too old to wear sugar-fuschia pink.  Or that my boobs were far too big to button it up.
9. Alcohol and poorly-made Nachos are apparently a legitimate meal option after a long, hard day. (read - crisps with cheese melted over them.  no dips.  I'm not always responsible enough to buy dips).
   
10. I can't move on from music I loved as a teenager.  I don't know why - I am just unable to listen to new music.  I actively spend my time avoiding it.  And now I have Spotify and Absolute Radio 90's, I don't have to listen to new music ever again if I don't want to.  Sorry kids, mum's never going to be 'cool'.  Unless 90's music goes old-skool and vintage and awesome, which I highly believe it will.  Everything does at some point, right? LeAnne Rimes anyone?  Can't Fight The Moonlight.
11. Don't put your hands down the back of my sofa, I beg you.  I looked down there once to reclaim the remote control and it wasn't pretty.  Yes, those are Cheerios.  No, there are no coins.  If there was I'd definitely be looking there more often. Trust me, I know where all of the coins are, we are too poor to not know where the coins are.
12. I never find a fiver in my coat pocket.  I am yet to be the proud recipient of  a long-forgotten piece of paper money.  That's hilarious!  I'm still waiting to be the kind of adult who carries a spare pound in her pocket for the shopping trolley at the supermarket.
13. Our house is the cleanest when we are expecting folk over.  Please don't drop in on us unexpectedly.  You won't be allowed in.  Our state of affairs lists from slightly messy to alarming.
    
14. I still have no idea how to do make-up past 'smear foundation over face until it blends in. Add mascara and eye stuff.  Distract with scary shades of lippie'
15. I've forgotten to pay Tom's gymnastics teacher two weeks in a row and got his dinner money envelope back this morning saying 'no money in envelope'.  I did remember to put his gym shoes in for After School Club though, so *high five!*

    

    Gimme a break - I was hugely pregnant here!

16. I have no stamina and I hate routine.I completely wear myself out being superwoman and then give myself a ten week holiday for being so awesome for those two days.
17. I have to take a new cup every single time I need a drink and I drive my husband crazy.  On my side of the bed I routinely amass a 'water cup' situation that borders on depravity. I hate myself for it, but last thing at night, I don't care.  I might not even drink from these cups.  I just fill one up with water, take it to bed and add it to the rest of my stash.  For no real reason.  
18. I can't throw out my old cuddly toys.  And what's worse - now my kids have cuddly toys and they love them and mine too, making it even harder to thin them out.  Now, between us, we have an obscene collection of stuffed animals. What if nobody loves them as much as we do?  We can't split them up - they're a family!  Haven't you seen Toy Story?
19. I always tell myself I have enough time to make a packed lunch in the morning.  I never have time to make a packed lunch in the morning.
20. I am always extremely disappointed that meeting up with friends is now generally for a cup of tea, a nice sober juice or just a quiet board game.  The pangs of regret that we are not getting tanked off of two bottles of wine and playing strip-poker are huge. Meeting with friends used to mean dancing into the late hours, doing crazy stuff and falling asleep on someone else's sofa before doing the walk of shame home.

Actually, I'm lying. That's the one part I don't really miss.  I'm glad I no longer have to wear uncomfortable shoes and sit in noisy, horrible, expensive bars. Or get sleazed on by pervy old men.  Or get so drunk that I can't see.  Or have epic hangovers. Or, admittedly, the walk of shame (even though there was something quite badass about it).  

But hell, I do miss that cheap beer at the student union.

The Time My Husband Spewed In My Face

This is Dave.  Dave is lovely guy.  We have been together for a long time and are very happy together.

You would think that Dave was a nice, quiet, unassuming bloke, and in the main, I would say, you'd be right.

He's a great dad, a loving husband and a generally all-round amazing guy.  He works hard, supports me in everything I do, is really clever and funny and is a genuine, stand-up dude.

But this one time, while horrifically drunk, Mr. David James Millar spewed in my face.

And (quite rightly, I feel) I will never let him forget it.

You know how in hindsight, things can become funny after they've happened, even if they weren't at the time?

This isn't one of those times.

This is beer.  Beer can either be Dave's best friend or his nemesis, depending on a number of factors.

1. How many beers he has had.  We call him 'two pint Dave'.  He is famous for this.  He crosses the line and things get said when two pint Dave comes out to play.  Two pints or even three on a good stomach-lined evening make him funny, entertaining and enough of below the belt to stay above insulting and just a bit cheeky and rude.  Four pints is pushing it.  Five is danger-zone time.
2. The situation.  Company, to Dave, is like adrenaline - it gives him a rush of energy and life.  He enjoys good company - namely old friends, his brothers and close family members.  If he has known you for a while and your mother has been insulted, you are in Dave's good books.  And his heart.  This sells him as some sort of loveable rogue, which he wears very well.  In a situation where he knows no-one though, the jokes he peddles about having sex with your gran can seem...I don't know...rude?
3. The occasion.  We don't get out much.  Nowadays, any occasion is an occasion.  But back in the day, an occasion was once every six months.  Now it's whenever the hell we enter a bar area without kids (once in a blue moon). He gets a little giddy.  Hence, we have had some very hairy encounters.  Granted, at weddings and such where he has had to pace himself, he has been very good.  We both got equally pissed and happy and stayed very jolly.  But there have been a few times on a casual night out where we have entered danger zone a bit too quickly.
4. This is a very important point: STRENGTH of beer.  He does not drink spirits for this reason.  He cannot handle spirits.  Thus, beer is safe, no?

NO



I WISH I had a picture from the night in question - it was worse than this one.  This is relatively sober.

We used to live in a student flat which we shared with our best friends.  It was a great time, and hence we spent a lot of our free time socialising together.

What a beautiful year.  There were parties, birthdays, many long nights spent huddled together on the sofa under blankets playing Tiger Woods PGA Golf 2005 on the PS2 because we had no heating (in the winter it was warmer outside than it was inside).  These were the days of our lives.

How I dream of re-living them.

I forget the reason why we were out that fateful night.  We were students - any reason is a good reason, really.  Maybe it was cheap Tuesday. Perhaps it was Student Union karaoke.  Either way, we dressed up and headed out for a night on the town.

It all started off quite well - a trip to the Union for some shots on the pool tables and a go on Time Crisis 2 at the video games arcade.  The someone decided that they felt in need of a decent pub quiz, so we headed out to a local bar to get a decent seat before the quiz started.

Now, the important thing to remember here is that it was early.

Very early.

It wasn't a whisker past 9p.m when Dave headed to that bar to begin before we joined him and a buddy after I'd gone to the cash machine.

What I didn't know, is that when he got to the bar, Dave had ordered a new, very strong lager beer, and had had not one, but two, in quick succession before we'd managed to amble along to join him before the quiz started.

What I did know is, that by the time we arrived, the boy could barely speak, let alone play a serious pub quiz.

This wan't your average pub quiz either - oh no - this was a highly intelligent, quite high-brow pub quiz, where the tie-breaker wasn't a shot of vodka, or a show of dancing skills, but a game of Jenga.

I knew we were screwed.

Initially it was funny.  Dave was a bit drunker than we'd seen him, but he was tolerating our slagging of him quite well.  Once we'd worked out the source of his drunken bum-ness, we all laughed about it - he hadn't realised himself that he'd just drunk two 8.5% beers within the space of half an hour.

to him.  The quiz became intolerably embarrassing as he started not only to shout out the answers to the questions in an otherwise silent bar, he started to slag off the compere by slating his dress code. 

As the alcohol began to take a stronger hold however, the beast turned.  Suddenly he was no longer laughing - he grew offended by our laughter and decided we were all being horrible 

After we'd all 'shushed' him and harangued him, he decided enough was enough - he was going to the toilet.

After he left to go down a spiral staircase to the toilets (a moment in which I actually feared for his life - he could barely see), my friends turned to me

'Oh god - I think he needs to go home'

'He's really pissed isn't he?'

'I can't believe what he said about the guy's trousers!'

As I was slowly absorbing the fact that as his girlfriend, I was responsible for getting him home and making sure he didn't cause any more offence, our buddy, who had followed Dave to the toilets in case of accident, reported back.

'He's just been sick on the stairs'

Oh god.

Apologising to my friends and promising to see them back at the flat, I huckled Dave out (with not much fight - he was trying to go to sleep on the table by this point) to cries of 'are you sure you are going to manage?' and 'are you gonna be o.k?'

To which I just nodded and walked even faster - the last thing I needed was an audience.

Grabbing a taxi, we jumped in for the short ride home, with me freaking out the whole way that it was going to cost me £50 clean up charge for spew - Dave kept complaining he didn't feel well.

It was 9.30p.m.

On the way I watched out of the window as others were beginning their nights out in short shorts and t-shirts with made-up hair and red lipstick; while I sat in the back of this cab with a drunken boyfriend draped across my knee and a silent and quite angry taxi-driver watching on for a short and potentially messy fare which would be more trouble than it's worth.

Thankfully we made it back, no mess involved.

I took him straight up to bed, undressing him to boxer shorts and carefully placing a glass of water beside him.  Closing the curtains, I realised I was knackered and decided to go to bed too.  The night was over.  I took off my make-up, got into my jammies and decided to call it a night.  The dog gave me a reassuring look of sympathy before he curled up between Dave's legs at the end of the bed.  Dave casually patted him and slurred, 'That's right Sparky, get between my legs...it's the best way...' before quite literally falling into a deep alcohol-induced sleep. 

I mused about how payback would come in the form of an epic hangover and grinned to myself.  What a daftie.

I must have been asleep for a few hours before I was woken to the world's worst noise.

Petrified, I leapt out of bed, instinctively landing beside the lightswitch.

Flicking it on, there was nothing that could have prepared me for what I was about to see.

There he was. Naked.  Covered in his own vomit, sat up, looking at me in surprise.

'What the hell happened?'

'What?'

I could barely comprehend the scene.  The dog was at my feet tail between his legs, frantically trying to barge past me and out of the door.  I opened the door and he ran out and down the stairs.

I looked back at Dave.  He started mumbling and stuttering,

'Sorry...sorry...oops...sorry'

'Okay...so I think you need to go in the shower'

'No!  No!  Sorry!  It's fine, I don't want to bother you, I'll just sleep here' he said, rolling back into a puddle of sick.  The smell was acidy and cloying.

As he lurched backwards to make himself comfortable in his own vomit, I barely concealed my disgust.

By now I could hear that our flatmates were back and had probably heard the whole thing.

Angry and quite annoyed at my mess of a boyfriend, I went through to the bathroom and turned the shower on.  Going back into the bedroom, fire in my belly, I threw back the covers.

'Move!'

'Oh noooo...shhh!'

'Get up!  You are GOING in the shower!'

'Noooo...it's ok....I'm comfy here...mmmfff'

'GET UP!'

Like a petulant teenager, he grumpily threw himself to the floor and stood up.  I started to pull the soaked sheets from the bed.  He made his way to the shower, dropping his boxers on the bathroom floor.  Gathering the sheets, I went to pick up the manky underwear to rinse them in the shower before I took them downstairs to the washing machine.

'Nooo...you can't change the bed!'

'I have  to change the bed.  It's covered in spew you daft bugger!  Also, I'm going to have to wash the wall'

'But you can't tell anyone!  They'll know!'

'What?'

'Please!  Don't tell anyone! I'm so sorry!  I'm so ashamed'

This is where he pulled out the puppy-dog eyes.

So, I agreed.  I agreed, no-one would know.  After all, this had never happened before and it was a bit of a shame - he hadn't meant to get so wasted.

I gathered the sheets, went downstairs and shoved them into the machine to be washed.  As I did so, my flatmates approached me from behind.

'Gen?'

'Mmmhmm?' (me concentrating on what wash cycle would get beer-vom out of white sheets)

'Gen, what's the dog covered in?  Is he okay?  He seems quite scared?'

I turned around.  there, trembling in the corner was my lovely, fluffy, white and now orange, soggy dog - trembling and whining.

'Ew!  Gen, what's that in your hair?'

Turning to face them, a shudder of horror ran through my body and into the pit of my stomach.  There was sick in my hair.  And my eyebrows.  And on my face.  My hands were covered.  And my arms.  In fact, I was caked.  I was so thrown by the whole situation I'd failed to notice the mess I was in.  My flatmates recoiled in disgust and had a few belly-laughs when I regaled the whole tale.

Grabbing the poor dog and trying to comfort him, I marched straight upstairs. I undressed, put the dog in the tub and the two of us joined Dave in the shower, sitting next to him in his morose sick-filled bath.

'They know, don't they?'

Wiping orange mush out of my eyebrows I just nodded.

*Disclaimer:  Dave knew I was writing this.  He thinks it's hilarious.  We got married and had kids and I can still kind of maybe sometimes laugh about it, kind of.  Hmm. I would say that this was a one-off incident as far as his silly drunken sick-filled adventures go, but sadly this is not the case.  We've had a similar incident involving him trying to sleep in the bathroom and end up spewing in a basket of clean washing. And along some walls. And out of a window. Oh and there was the time recently when he went out with his brothers and ended up doing some stuff I can't mention here. This was a poorly thought out plan - he does not need egging on by younger guys who like to drink shots.  He still can't handle liquor.  It's okay - I have now learned that you just don't share a bed with him in such circumstances.  The dog is fine too.  He's 18 years old now, and still sleeps at the end of our bed, so is not traumatised in any way.