Oh no what did I do last night?

Let's start with things being all nicey-nicey and say:

One day, 18 hours, 50 minutes and 39 seconds. 71 cigarettes not smoked, saving £16.24. Life saved: 5 hours, 55 minutes.

I have to tell how I got through my first smoke-free night because its either funny or horrifying depending on your perspective.

First I drank the dregs of a bottle of wine, then chased that with another full bottle of wine. I was desperate for a fag by then so, with drunk logic, I went to The Forgotten Shelf and found two dusty magic bottles, one containing a peach schnapps type thing and another Islay whisky. Thrilled with my haul I went back to the basement to get into trouble with MSN.

One of my fondest platonic loves (he's the Plato fan, not me) is this fella who talks to me regular on MSN, except when I am blocking him for some imagined slight. We both enjoy swearing, though in real life we are as posh as can be.
As in:
Me: You are such a w*nky c*nt-faced tit
Him: Well at least I'm not a c*nty tit-faced w*nker like you.

So in a drink-fuelled frenzy of creativity I suggest we put our swearing skills to the test and compose a poem with lots of swear words in it.

Which is how "Spunk Song" came about. Sadly the details are now lost to history, I just know that this collaborative work seemed to me possibly the finest poem ever written. Nothing would do but I published! I would be courageous and dare to push the boundaries of art! I would be the Tracy Emin of blogging!

So anyone stopping by the blog this morning would have been the only people to have read this seminal (groan) work.

Was driving to my friend's house about lunchtime, car full of kids, centre of Bracknell, when in a series of vivid flashbacks it came back to me what I had done. I nearly killed us all by attempting to bury my head in my hands while driving. I had to pull over and call Mystery Dude to please unpublish the obscene pome. Which he did, thanks mate. [It burned my eyes out in the process - Ed]

Incidentally this is only one in a series of ill-advised incidents from last night. Other travesties include inviting someone who is considering volunteering to be my boyfriend (I think) to come and sleep with me, also possibly asking my collaborator the same thing (not sure about that one, but probably did, usually do) before doing a really nasty character assassination on him for attempting to infringe my right to publish our dirty poems wheresoever I damned pleased.

Sorry to everyone involved in the fall-out from my Festival of Binge-Drinking. Please forgive me and imagine my funny face looking all contrite and ashamed.

And you know what? I did not have a single puff.