D-98 to D-96, to kill a pigeon

I have given up drinking for a few weeks to squeeze into *that* dress and as a result I am suffering from fun Bobby syndrome - you know, fun Bobby, from Friends: great company when he's had a few, but boringly depressive and cynical when he's sober.

But, despite realising this boring side of myself pretty early on in the weekend, I resisted and didn't break my promise to stay "dry".

Of course, usually Krusty would have loved this as he is always trying to drag me away from parties with exaggerated yawns that escalate into full-blown pleas and guilt-trips, but what should happen when I want to go home early? Yes, Krusty (for the first time in the history of our relationship) wanted to stay out all night on Friday, jovially dancing and grinning at me when I asked him to come home, and saying "Anything for my baby, let's go. But first... let's dance!"

Rather annoying. But also quite cute - turns out, when Krusty is drunk, he looooooooooooves me. He kept telling me that my hair was "amazing", that I am his "world" and that he "might be drunk but that doesn't mean" that his love "isn't real." So it was worth it at least for that!

The next day, we went off to Lamma Island to eat some pigeons. We have done this a few times now, and although I really can't eat the birds myself, it's quite a nice little adventure: you take a ferry for about 40 minutes, then walk through the lively evening unfolding at Yung Shue Wan fishing village only to walk for about 20 minutes through the Lammaite countryside, in the dark, to find a house in the middle of nowhere with children running around screaming and a lovely team of staff who speak perfect English. It's quite odd.

But, to explain why I can't actually eat anything when I go there, here is a picture of the plate post massacre - the pigeons arrive in a big glazed pile, heads and beaks attached... Urgh.


Which means that I had no alcohol, and almost no food - the dress is going to fit like a glove!