Day 128: The Prosecco Poltergeist, the Mini Rescue Mission & Molly’s Dental Drama

Nov 23
4 min read

Thank GOD it’s Friday! And what a Friday it was - the kind of day that starts with you thinking, “Oh, I didn’t drink that much prosecco last night,” and ends with you clutching the kitchen counter like a Victorian heroine fainting at the sight of a corset.

I genuinely didn’t think I drank that much. I was fine when I got home! Totally coherent, totally functional, totally not-on-the-verge-of-calling-myself-an-Uber-to-my-own-front-door. But no - the prosecco and all the rich food I ate had other plans.

It clearly decided to wait until 3:07am, sneakily climb onto my bed like a sparkly little poltergeist, shake me by my shoulders and go, “SURPRISE!!

Did you miss me?”

So yes.

I started my working-from-home morning with a few glamorous retches and at least three “maybe I will vom - nope, false alarm, Mounjaro has glued my stomach shut.”

AND I spent a ridiculous amount of time in the toilet - and NOT for beauty reasons.

Absolutely not a self-care moment.

It was not pretty.

The soundtrack coming from my stomach sounded like old pipework in a dodgy, crumbly NYC building where the radiators shriek and the water gurgles like it’s haunted.

Honestly, it was like owning a Victorian plumbing system inside my abdomen.

Honestly… THANK YOU Mounjaro for ruining my social life!

Actually no, wait.

This one was self-inflicted.

Or hold on - maybe the food was the real criminal here.

That dinner was so ridiculously rich it could have bought its own second home in Surrey.

WAY too rich for the teeny-tiny-iPad-mini-sized stomach I’m now working with.

Honestly, I want a doctor to measure my stomach.

Is it the size of:

A Kiwi fruit?
A child’s mitten?
A lonely, slightly squished brioche bun from the bottom of the Waitrose bag?
A hamster’s disappointment?

Because it cannot be bigger than any of those. No wonder two sips of prosecco and one decadent dinner turned my insides into a soap opera.

THE MINI RESCUE MISSION

First things first - my hero, my absolute knight in shining armour, drove me to the station so I could rescue my precious baby Mini from her frostbitten, abandoned, tragic overnight stay.

I felt awful.

She must’ve been TERRIFIED.

Out there… alone… in the cold… surrounded by potential thieves who probably walked past her thinking, “Nah, too cute to steal.”

But we were reunited, and I drove her home with the dramatic flair of a mother retrieving her child from the wilderness.

WFH But Make It A Shopping Event

Work was good today - not too busy, not too quiet, the Goldilocks Zone of productivity.

I made coffee with collagen (because I’m out here fighting the good fight against hair loss like Joan of Arc with better conditioning spray).

Had a tiny bit of toasted baguette with smoked salmon and cream cheese. Tiny.

TEENY.

Like a sample size Harrods would give you just to keep you quiet.

Yum though!

And of course - being a WFH day - the doorbell had to chime like Big Ben because what is a remote work day without deliveries??

I swear there’s a demon inside me whispering, “Buy it, queen,” every time I breathe.

But the Barbour ankle wellies arrived and OH MY GOD.

Latte-coloured.

Chic.

Cosy.

Practical.

I love them.

Stop spending money woman!!

No.

The Friday Jab & Queasiness Surprise

I jabbed my thigh around 1pm and immediately felt a bit queasy - like my insides were saying, “Oh, so we’re doing THIS again? Really?”

No lunch.

No hunger.

Mounjaro said NOT TODAY, SATAN.

Missing My Other Half (and His Lost Phone in the River System)

My other half still doesn’t have a working phone and honestly, it’s like he’s off-grid in the wilderness.

I miss talking to him!

Awww.

Meanwhile… where is his phone???

He dropped it into a storm drain and at this point I’m convinced it’s floating somewhere near the outskirts of the Thames, waving gently at passing boats. Could even be in Cornwall by now, bobbing next to a fisherman eating a pasty.

And honestly… will it still work if someone finds it?

iPhone 15 Pro!

Isn’t that thing meant to survive like, volcanic eruptions?

Meteor showers?

Maybe if someone sticks it in rice for three months and does a prayer circle it’ll switch on again.

MOLLY’S VET DRAMA

I had to take my baby Molly to the vet in the afternoon - and while driving, the Mounjaro hit me like a tonne of bricks thrown by someone with a personal vendetta.

Poor baby will need to be put under to clean her teeth.

BUT WAIT - the diagnosis was WAY worse than expected.

Some of her teeth might need to be removed.

Her pulp/nerve is exposed. She must be in such pain, poor little poppet.

She was hyperventilating after the vet (as usual), so I brought her home to decompress and breathe like a normal cat again.

The Evening: Curry, TV, and Existential Stomach Questions

Logged off work, finally.

Later, we picked up a curry from the local place - the one that ALSO makes burgers, so basically an identity crisis in a kitchen. They are tasting waters at the moment and checking out what sells. Great idea!

Had a few bites - delicious - and immediately wondered:

“How long is THAT going to stay in my stomach? Minutes? Hours? Eternity?”

Given Mounjaro’s track record, I’ll go with:

Four business days.

Then the holy Friday TV line-up:

Grand Designs
MasterChef
The Beast in Me

I LOVE the story.

Nile is so suspicious, so sketchy, so absolutely guilty-looking… but is he actually the killer??

Tomorrow: Operation Phone Resurrection

Busy day:

Hairdresser

Food shopping

And MOST IMPORTANTLY - resurrecting my other half’s phone situation so he can re-join society.

Thank GOD it’s Friday! And what a Friday it was - the kind of day that starts with you thinking, “Oh, I didn’t drink that much prosecco last night,” and ends with you clutching the kitchen counter like a Victorian heroine fainting at the sight of a corset.

I genuinely didn’t think I drank that much. I was fine when I got home! Totally coherent, totally functional, totally not-on-the-verge-of-calling-myself-an-Uber-to-my-own-front-door. But no - the prosecco and all the rich food I ate had other plans.

It clearly decided to wait until 3:07am, sneakily climb onto my bed like a sparkly little poltergeist, shake me by my shoulders and go, “SURPRISE!!

Did you miss me?”

So yes.

I started my working-from-home morning with a few glamorous retches and at least three “maybe I will vom - nope, false alarm, Mounjaro has glued my stomach shut.”

AND I spent a ridiculous amount of time in the toilet - and NOT for beauty reasons.

Absolutely not a self-care moment.

It was not pretty.

The soundtrack coming from my stomach sounded like old pipework in a dodgy, crumbly NYC building where the radiators shriek and the water gurgles like it’s haunted.

Honestly, it was like owning a Victorian plumbing system inside my abdomen.

Honestly… THANK YOU Mounjaro for ruining my social life!

Actually no, wait.

This one was self-inflicted.

Or hold on - maybe the food was the real criminal here.

That dinner was so ridiculously rich it could have bought its own second home in Surrey.

WAY too rich for the teeny-tiny-iPad-mini-sized stomach I’m now working with.

Honestly, I want a doctor to measure my stomach.

Is it the size of:

A Kiwi fruit?

A child’s mitten?

A lonely, slightly squished brioche bun from the bottom of the Waitrose bag?

A hamster’s disappointment?

Because it cannot be bigger than any of those. No wonder two sips of prosecco and one decadent dinner turned my insides into a soap opera.

THE MINI RESCUE MISSION

First things first - my hero, my absolute knight in shining armour, drove me to the station so I could rescue my precious baby Mini from her frostbitten, abandoned, tragic overnight stay.

I felt awful.

She must’ve been TERRIFIED.

Out there… alone… in the cold… surrounded by potential thieves who probably walked past her thinking, “Nah, too cute to steal.”

But we were reunited, and I drove her home with the dramatic flair of a mother retrieving her child from the wilderness.

WFH But Make It A Shopping Event

Work was good today - not too busy, not too quiet, the Goldilocks Zone of productivity.

I made coffee with collagen (because I’m out here fighting the good fight against hair loss like Joan of Arc with better conditioning spray).

Had a tiny bit of toasted baguette with smoked salmon and cream cheese. Tiny.

TEENY.

Like a sample size Harrods would give you just to keep you quiet.

Yum though!

And of course - being a WFH day - the doorbell had to chime like Big Ben because what is a remote work day without deliveries??

I swear there’s a demon inside me whispering, “Buy it, queen,” every time I breathe.

But the Barbour ankle wellies arrived and OH MY GOD.

Latte-coloured.

Chic.

Cosy.

Practical.

I love them.

Stop spending money woman!!

No.

The Friday Jab & Queasiness Surprise

I jabbed my thigh around 1pm and immediately felt a bit queasy - like my insides were saying, “Oh, so we’re doing THIS again? Really?”

No lunch.

No hunger.

Mounjaro said NOT TODAY, SATAN.

Missing My Other Half (and His Lost Phone in the River System)

My other half still doesn’t have a working phone and honestly, it’s like he’s off-grid in the wilderness.

I miss talking to him!

Awww.

Meanwhile… where is his phone???

He dropped it into a storm drain and at this point I’m convinced it’s floating somewhere near the outskirts of the Thames, waving gently at passing boats. Could even be in Cornwall by now, bobbing next to a fisherman eating a pasty.

And honestly… will it still work if someone finds it?

iPhone 15 Pro!

Isn’t that thing meant to survive like, volcanic eruptions?

Meteor showers?

Maybe if someone sticks it in rice for three months and does a prayer circle it’ll switch on again.

MOLLY’S VET DRAMA

I had to take my baby Molly to the vet in the afternoon - and while driving, the Mounjaro hit me like a tonne of bricks thrown by someone with a personal vendetta.

Poor baby will need to be put under to clean her teeth.

BUT WAIT - the diagnosis was WAY worse than expected.

Some of her teeth might need to be removed.

Her pulp/nerve is exposed. She must be in such pain, poor little poppet.

She was hyperventilating after the vet (as usual), so I brought her home to decompress and breathe like a normal cat again.

The Evening: Curry, TV, and Existential Stomach Questions

Logged off work, finally.

Later, we picked up a curry from the local place - the one that ALSO makes burgers, so basically an identity crisis in a kitchen. They are tasting waters at the moment and checking out what sells. Great idea!

Had a few bites - delicious - and immediately wondered:

“How long is THAT going to stay in my stomach? Minutes? Hours? Eternity?”

Given Mounjaro’s track record, I’ll go with:

Four business days.

Then the holy Friday TV line-up:

Grand Designs

MasterChef