A breath of fresh insanity when all you have is air

It's cold out there and on any other day I might want to crawl home to bed and retire underneath the duvet. But not today: on Friday I got the promotion I've worked towards for the last two years, and so today I'm more enthused and happy than I've been for many a moon. Oh frabjous day, and so forth.

Celebrations started unexpectedly on Saturday morning when the Boy du Jour turned up on my doorstep with the makings of breakfast-in-bed and the Saturday papers. Even better, he then encouraged me to play two hours of PlayStation (which he hates) without a word of complaint while I kept up a running commentary on pretty much every single scene change. While I kicked seven shades of crap out of my pixellated opponent he drank coffee, read the Times and rolled his eyes at me every now and again. (Which I choose to take as a sign of affection.)

Eventually, martyred to the limits of any man's endurance, he unplugged me so that we could scoot off and spend the night with some Winchester-based friends of his. Lovely people and a great example of the kind of relationship I aspire to; our host rustled up a fantastic three course meal while his girlfriend had a beer and a gossip with us. Of course my Boy nearly bust a gut laughing when I suggest he used this as his new role model, but c'est la vie. He made up for it by not breathing a word on Sunday when a combination of slight hangover and extreme hormones encouraged me to insist on a four meal day with a sushi break partway through.

Love me, love my crazy eating.