After all the guests had gone home last Friday, after the party, it was midnight, and I ran upstairs and put my jeans back on.
Large, cold glass of wine down in one. So delicious.
And then I did crazy, wild dancing in the kitchen to the playlist I hadn’t even heard, I’d been so busy talking.
It was the sort of dancing you can never recreate (a bit like this picture, which even though I’ve just made it right now, I can’t remember how on earth I did it).
The sort of dancing best kept in kitchens, accompanied by giggling.
I think that’s the best sort of dancing.
Normal service and regular boring old stories of everyday life will resume next week, even though I am still high as a kite.
I hope I never come down.
Have a good Friday night!