Curry On Screaming.

As much as I love my Friday night, girly night out with the lasses, it's rare that it doesn't result in one regret or another, the following day.
Last night's expedition took us far, far away, to the very edge of Ramsgate, to dine heartily in the exotic and wonderful St Lawrence Tandoori.
Vindaloo and fluffy naan were munched, amid tales of derring do (mostly stuff about work colleagues getting on peoples' tits), before trawling into Ramsgate proper for the obligatory bucket o' beer.

A nice evening out, no fights, noone got arrested and nobody got so pissed that they shagged a minger. Hurrah!

But there's always a price to pay, and in my case, it was a rendition of that great Johnny Cash hit, Ring Of Fire, on the loo this morning!
Though it did spawn a first for me, as I've never blogged while standing up before. Laying down, plenty of times, but never standing up.
I can't honestly say that I'd want to do it again.

Any-old-road-up, I'll be popping into town now, to purchase a pot of natural yoghurt and a syringe.
My old mum's cure for everything, that!