Forensic evidence

Monday was one long drinkathon, with the pace picking up after the solicitor visit, to which I was accompanying a girlfriend. Although I don't remember typing it, the previous post was a result of a thorough cortex-pounding with alcohol. I'm gratified to notice that despite being literally out of my mind (entirely amnesiac after 8 pm), my automatic behaviour consists of becoming sentimental, lovey-dovey and beer-goggled.

When I awoke again (wearing that smeared panda eye-makeup again), there was evidence in the bedroom, kitchen and sitting room of some kind of grizzly bear activity in the night. Sliced mushrooms and garlic peel lay scattered on the floor, a frying pan coated in mushroom fricasee also unaccountably on the floor, creme fraiche left out of the fridge, crushed garlic, half a squeezed lemon and many utensils scattered on the counter.

When I did wake up, I was sharing my bed with the contents of my jewellery boxes (?) and a packet of cream crackers. The sitting room had spilled ashtrays and drug paraphernalia, several CDs next to the DVD player but no sign of my spectacles. It's taken two days to track down those glasses, which somehow ended up chucked under the sofa beyond arm's reach. As I survey the scene of destruction, a vague memory intrudes that the grizzly bear had decided it was high time that she learned to use the DVD player, now 4 months old, with its many shiny controls labelled with strange symbols, and a silver remote controller with at least 20 buttons. Thus far, the bear had relied on her children to operate the DVD beast, but now she would show it who was boss...