Pleasure without Guilt is no Pleasure at All.

OOOH! I feel so guilty! I should be decorating a friend of a friend's house but... I know I need the money but... I bumped into someone I haven't seen in ages yesterday evening and she invited me back to share in an impromptu dinner party with her flatmate, a concert pianist, and a neighbour, the daughter of a very, very, very famous times infinity artist to whom we were not to refer, so... the gin and the tonic combined with the wine and the last gin and tonic and sauteed chicken and mushrooms and another glass of wine thank you... and I managed to avoid mentioning or indeed referring in anyway whatsoever to the very, very, very famous times infinity artist though he kept popping his name into my head (shall I give you a clue? but you won't believe me even if I should say but his name begins with P) and... you can imagine the conversation was of art and books and music and other topics that are my delight... and every so often the flatmate would leave the table to play a piece and instruct me in the subtleties of the music, I being very ignorant on such matters, though... I am going to Glyndebourne on the twelfth of this month for the first time ever, something that I mentioned every so often during the course of the evening so as to reassure the others present that I was not a complete cultural wasteground though another glass of wine would be nice... and oh my goodness it is one thirty in the morning and I am alone with my hostess and would I like one more gin and tonic... I can't, I have to work in the morning but... that would be very nice, so... John Humphrys is muttering in my ear something about bombs and arrests and... what was that? 8:45, it can't be but... it IS! Instant guilt... not that I have to be at the house at any particular time, however some time would be welcome... but wine combined with gin and tonic and sauteed chicken and another glass of wine... and paint? I don't think so.