SHAME

Damn - we fell off the wagon today. We know only sorrow.

It started at lunch. We sat down and a good fairy that looked suspiciously like Cactus sat on on left shoulder yelling..

" Don't, don't don't! Silly fucking cow - don't!"

But it was Dockside. The sun shone down heating up our desire. We started with Soda. We were winning..

The Cactus Fairy, relieved, smiled at our strength of will .

Then some Big Bastard in a Kia Kaha teeshirt rolled out the bloody Champers.

We succumbed to one small glass . True - no lies. It was Arcadia and it assaulted our palate with flat despairing notes of ordinariness.

The Cactus Fairy mocked mercilessly at our lack of willpower and laughed at our misfortune.

Then we channelled the image of the last wanker she bonked more than once despite knowing deep down he was a complete tosser - and she fell strangely silent.

We looked at the menu and there was only one option for us. Mussels in a tomato concasse.

We glanced furtively at our left shoulder and the Cactus Fairy looked dubious.

Out came the little bivalves - plump pudenda on our plate , dressed in a flounce of green shells Veiled in saucy red.

They were soo good.

Soon though, the call of duty rang loud.

We left our friends and walked brusquely along the waterfront to rid ourselves of the calorific vile methode champagne shit.

We toiled the rest of the afternoon for John Key...

Then - late in the day, we had an incoming electronic missive, an old friend was in town.

To a bar of old betting men in their shiny arsed suits we went.

We ordered a soda - again, we laughed and talked and laughed some more - time slipped by like a sneaky thief and then we looked down and recoiled in horror and shame - we had in our nail bitten paw a - wine glass.

Shocked, we were - stunned. The Cactus Fairy, the heartless bitch, laughed maniacally. We drank two more.

Then we left and slunk along Customhouse Quay and we were sure we heard the mocking tones of Mark Unsworth from the Balcony at D4, had the Cactus fairy given up our guilty secret?

We stopped at the lights, tears pooled on the footpath at Lambton Quay, Up the lift and thru the James Cook we went , Bob Jones portholes hiding our pain from the rich , beautiful and famous.

Out on the Terrace we spied a place called Mad Liquor. It lifted our spirits, was it a place that sold dirty girls for dykes?

No it was but a simple off licence - full of all the bad things like , booze, cigarettes, junk food and coffee. We scuttled by.

Home we are now... bereft. Drinking water, insipid warm town water, washing our sins away... going to bed without our supper for penance.

So today we failed - we were bad... We promise we wont do it again ... promise.