I think it was the curry

So I'm hungover, and wanted to have a whinge about it, and then philosophise about the possible meaning of hungoverness with reference to my faith. So I figured why not start a blog.

My good friend Hazel Blackberry inspired me. Which is big, because I'm feeling pretty uninspirable at the moment. You know, the hangover. Also a crisis of faith. Never good on the same day.

Here's the thing: Me and a bunch of friends get together every Tuesday night to talk about church/faith/God/community. One of us calls what we do 'homechurch', one of us calls it 'faith community', the rest don't call it anything because, you know LABELS, man. We usually intend to read a bit of the bible or discuss a book (you know, a different one) and sometimes we actually get around to it.

Anyway, once a month we don't intend to do anything except eat, drink, enjoy each other's company and generally let the kids run amok. So last night, as is my wont, I had probably, oh let's say, three too many red wines with the curry. (Note, I mention the curry early on in the piece, so as to soften and possibly waylay the judgement of the reader.)

Hence my current crisis of faith (oh, there have been others).

I figure Jesus (yes, a close personal friend of mine) is not too uptight generally about the whole consumption of alcohol thing. Take the bread and the wine deal for starters. Not to mention the stunt he pulled at that wedding, after the grog had run out, probably long after everyone was pretty smashed, where he turned half a dozen thirty gallon drums of water into wine. Red wine, I should imagine, and probably not dealcoholised.

So I think Jesus is probably fine with it, you know, provided I don't get smashed and then sleep with the wrong bloke or call people rude names or whatever.

I'll tell you who ISN'T fine with it though: one of the mums at my kids' primary school. I figured, the saintly thing to do when one is hungover is not to lie about it and blame it on the curry, but to be honest. To live vulnerably, as it were. So she says to me "Well, I hope it was the curry, and not your Consumption, otherwise you'll get no sympathy from me. Alcohol is a terrible, damaging thing." So what did I do? Did I humbly allow her to judge me, lay down my life for my sister, make myself of no reputation? Turn the other cheek? Not on your Nelly.

I CAVED!

I muttered something about actually being sure it was the curry, and that I thought one of my kids might be coming down with something too, so it could even be viral. And then I got in the car and drove (carefully) home and fell, yes FELL! into bed in a bilious despond of self-loathing. Where I stayed for five minutes until it occurred to me that it would serve both human kind and myself infinitely better if I started a blog. So there you are.

And yes I know that I probably misused the word 'despond' just now but, give me a break: I think I'm coming down with something.