Lying on top of Hedge-wife

Missmc was slumming it last night. The details of that will remain nonspecific but the occasion was a farewell party for my castle-laden soon-to-be-moving-to-Switzerland friend. She is reluctant to go, and, should be. I am fairly certain that she will be returned to London by the Swiss police. Her gleesome gleeishness is just. not. swissy.

But what can one do in the midst of the great jarring crash of the financial system besides tax-dodge-run-to-Switzerland and start a hedge fund? Afterall - the hedgies have seen the biggest profit during the crisis and lo - if I had half a brain and had liquidated a few years ago - well - no - I'd need a bit of help with that. There are some things Missmc is not capable of. Just a few. Arch your eyebrows here.

Back to the evening. Said friend was fearful she would not find anyone as "normal" as us in Switzerland. Normal? Goodness gracious that is a skew of reality. As tilted as the hill we walked up last night with our ridiculous wedged shoes. Except the long and lithe A. - she had her sensible head-girl flats on and bounded up the hill like a dog in sunshine. How she can drink copious amounts and remain positively corporate-meeting-buttoned-up-shirt is a complete mystery. I won't paint a picture of the rest of us. Yet. Yes. It is coming. That indelible moment.

Can you believe I am still here? I cannot. It is the best and worst day of my life. Picture me, 70's jeans, those wedges, lying on top of hedge-wife . In the middle of the road. Bus approaching. Not a twisted porn scene - we simply fell down together in the middle of the road. Drunk.

I pondered getting up, and, decided the bus had a better chance of rolling over me without squashing me if I stayed lying down. Those are the kinds of decision making skills one is blessed with whilst inebriated. Merde.

He stopped. We rose. And made it to the other side. Of the canyon.

To be continued...