Stag-flation

I have to go to a stag do tomorrow. This involves standing around with 20 other men drinking for most of the day and most of the night. Of the 20 other men, I know only one: the groom-to-be. To me these days, the idea of drinking lager all day and talking about football and kebabs etc is as attractive as the idea of being interrogated by the Saudi secret police.

It isn’t just the conversation: my powers of resistance to alcohol have withered over the past 6 or 7 years. Whereas before I could reach double figures with relative ease, these days a glass of wine is enough to set off my lazy eye.

So, I have a rather limited choice: get my round in with everyone else, or stay out of the round and buy my own drinks in order to maintain some degree of self-control. The former will result in me getting a) snattered; b) self-repetitive; c) a delicious kebab; and finally d) a thumping hangover; and the latter in a) teeth-grinding frustration as I feign laughter at the same joke I have heard 6 times in the previous hour; b) long periods of staring into my glass; c)long periods of flipping beer-mats; e) a disgusting kebab.

Gah.

Pig Face

I’m cannot fathom why anyone, let alone a Muslim, would want to get Botox injections after finding out that it contains substances derived from pigs, but the Malaysian National Fatwa Council has decided to ban it anyway.