Don't take medicine from rockstars

Yesterday I shocked Erin by declaring that I hated Facebook, and was considering deleting my account. I could say the same for my phone and trusty Mac though - but as I've said before, it's not so much the technology that is evil, but the fact it should never be used late at night, during illness, PMS, a full moon or after alcohol consumption.

I am still cringing from Friday night, when a friend who is staying with us came home from being out on the town with a certain famous musician who happens to live across the pond. Said musician had given friend prescription medication from the US, and knowing that Erin and I were ill, he kindly offered some to us along with a glass of therapeutic wine or two. Now, it's rare that I even take aspirin let alone anything else, and I'm certainly not the kind to need any sort of substances other than a stiff drink when going out to dance (which again, I very rarely do unless I'm with Irina on a gay boat in Sweden, in which case all we need is some bad music, glitter confetti and someone dressed like a cowboy).

But I had had a horrible week, I was very ill but had worked overtime for a week despite the fact my nose matched my lipstick, my cold wasn't going away even after applying the tried-and-true whiskey therapy, and I had been so depressed that I'd been on the phone to Irina several times during the week and she was now sending me check-up text messages every morning. So I thought, hey, it's prescription, how bad can it be? I also knew that many Australians take this particular combination to survive long haul flights, and it was only something to help me sleep.

But the moral of this story is: never take medicinal advice from rockstars. I am not quite sure what happened, but upon waking up I discovered to my horror that I had left several Facebook messages for various people including a colleague and I am still too embarrassed to even see what they say (my only consolation being I'm sure they make no sense whatsoever). I spent yesterday wracked with guilt and watching back to back episodes of Peep Show to convince me that life could be worse. Erin and I also discovered we had spent 15 minutes on the phone to Ben (which I do actually remember, although wasn't quite sure what exactly we said). People like Jonathan and Angela will probably forgive me, but colleagues are another matter. Three hours went by faster than is possible within the current laws of the space time continuum and I discovered several draft emails which thank God I never sent, but which contained the kind of spelling and grammar that would have made the BBC condemn me to solitary confinement.

So kids: don't take medicine from rockstars, don't mix wine and medicine unless said wine is provided by Qantas and the only alternative is certain madness, and for the love of all that is decent don't ever, ever use Facebook if you are not sure you won't regret it. I can only offer my apologies to anyone I contacted on Friday night and implore you to ignore it. Luckily I don't have to go to work for the next two weeks and will hopefully return from New York to an oblivious workplace. Gulp.