the weekend passes

There was wine and beer and old friends and new friends. I cooked and we all drank. In a tremendous fit of nostalgia, we re-canted wines from decanter to bottle and wandered down to the end of the pier in the never-dimming light of a summer evening. We swigged merrily from the bottles as we navigated the cobbles and kept far from the edge and the water below. The pub beckoned, but we only lasted a pint before staggering home.

Sunday felt rather dreadful. But it was worth it.