It's All About the Looks.............. (or) The Morning After)

Now words aren’t going to come easy to me tonight I’m afraid, thanks to the hangover from hell where I once again have only myself to blame.

I spent yesterday looking forward to drinking something sparkly in the sun at a friend’s house warming BBQ later that day. I therefore took myself off to the local bottlo in search of something suitable to refresh me (ignoring any advice from the staff as I went - of which I did regret later on) Bearing in mind it had to come in under budget (budget being as cheap as possible without actually resorting to passion pop) I was delighted to find a shelf of Omni wines and champagnes, all sporting labels with the magic $9.99. Yes folks we had found a winner. Perusing the shelf closer held even more suprises, as each range wore an array of pretty labels... Omni Blu, Omni Green, Omni Pink, the list went on.

Then I saw it, like love at first sight my heart skipped a beat....Omni Red. With its bright red vivid label, it would complete my summer BBQ outfit perfectly.

Now I’ll admit I am a bit of an accessories girl, and today’s look included a red and white spotted headband, red and white spotted thick wooden bangle, red ballet flats and a ducky little red handbag. 'Thank you Omni' I was thinking as I took it down from the shelf, for completing my outfit today. It was the perfect finishing touch.

So off I go with my matching bottle of wine (had no idea what it held, just that it was under ten dollars and looked a treat as I carried it in with its red label proudly on display) Its all about the look folks, and whilst I hadn’t gone so far as to purchase a bottle of grog based only on the colour of its label before, what harm could come to me?

Waking up the next morning...apparently a lot.

To take you back a step, on opening the bottle amongst great excitement and that satisfying swoosh and pop, it turns out it’s a sparkling shiraz. A red wine with fizz is fundamentally wrong on so many levels I’m not even sure where to begin. It was like the lovechild between a bottle of champagne and a bottle of merlot. Not only should those two have ever met, but they certainly shouldn’t have hooked up for a sly one and produced this offspring.

I bravely drank it in the sun, in a large plastic tumbler, with ice (if nothing else I'm classy - It had a head on it like a beer too I might add) Strangely (or perhaps not) no one else wished to partake in any, so it was up to me to finish the bottle. After about the third tumbler I was almost thinking maybe this strange new drink wasn’t that bad, but then after the third tumbler I was also thinking that maybe the kids present at the BBQ weren’t too bad either, and trust me, I don’t usually like kids.

So I drank my red bubbles, and mingled amongst the crowd. (Actually as I was the one and only solo person there....I didn’t so much as mingle with guests as such, it was more like walk up to each group and hang around them, and demand to be heard whether they wanted me there or not. I was intent on not looking a lonely (though well accessorized) girl with just myself and my bottle of strange liquid.

Not being very maternal I wasn’t sure what to do and say with all the kids around either, so I just kept right on drinking and poked the odd baby or child as it came past me. The fat babies are really good for poking I discovered.

Having completed my bottle with the red label, I then decided it was a grand idea to move onto rum. In fact, by then, everything really was quite grand in general. I can’t remember at what stage I ended up on the jumping castle, but that too was rather grand. There was apparently a small incident of an unhappy wife because it was her husband that had pushed me onto the jumping castle then threw himself on to it as well at the same time. (I was oblivious to the arguing wife here, as I was too busy rolling around the said castle and attempting to get myself off it – this task proved to much for my wine affected body, and I ended up needing assistance)

Anyway, sorted that out, more rum. More music, more rum. Told stories, more rum.

Bed time. Right, so of I toddle into the spare room and end up having my friend sort of hoist me onto the top bunk. (As she was pushing me up there from below, I was thankful I had decided to wear decent sized knickers that day)

Cue morning, cue bright sun. Cue me waking up on the top bunk in the kids room with the hangover from hell and a mental note to self to never drink sparkling shiraz again.

It took me hours to get vertical without my head feeling like my brain was still down there on the pillow writhing in agony. I laid there for a long time praying to God for a bacon sandwich to magically appear. My friend must have heard my silent pleas and promptly cooked breakfast. Mine promptly came back up again, along with the red bubbles who just refused to go away and kept threatening to return and say hello.

They so did not go with today’s outfit either.

So I’m signing off for the night, and if nothing else have learnt the importance that it’s not all about the looks after all.

(I’m also off to re-arrange the wine rack so there is no chance that the champagne bottles can run off with red wine bottles ever again)