The morning after.....

......was a different kettle of fish.  A blinding head ache made me want to stay in bed but the sun and the frost made me want to get up.
The living room was in a debauched state.  The cats had got the cheese, streamers, confetti and little tin things covered the floor, paper hearts were trapped in the cobwebs, half empty glasses, bottles and salsa jars cluttered the table and the hearth looked like a funeral pyre. 
Josette sat in the middle of the wreckage drinking flat prosecco.  I could have done without her but her hug was so heart felt that I couldn't do otherwise.  She offered me a little pot of blue flowers and asked why she hadn't been invited to the party.  I felt bad, filled her glass and sent her on her way.
We opened all the windows, swept, scraped and mopped the floorboards, cleared the hearth and had breakfast at midday on the terrace.
Nico knows how to push my buttons and we walked to Bastonis where he grilled sausages while the children played like children, practiced driving forward and reversing in the Peugeot and Bernie chewed Paco's leg.
The sun dropped and the cold fell and we came home to a clean house, a fire and a gin which woke up my hangover.