The lights were perfectly dimmed and the colour scheme was on point and the air smelt deliciously mulled and the overall vibe was trendy but not *too* hipster and as the temperature dropped below freezing outside we four sank further into our booth and as we huddled happily together in our window seat it felt relaxed and familiar and chatty and easy and everything you could want from an accidental red wine Thursday in the week between Christmas and New Year.
I returned to London from Yorkshire last night, back to our rickety, wonky, wonderful flat. After emptying my suitcase, I wrapped myself in a blanket and had a little nap on the sofa (Christmas is tiring, apparently), waking as my housemate returned from her Christmas travels, inviting me to have a few drinks in a pub that sits pretty much at the end of our road.
Planning to go for an hour or so, I simply could not be arsed to pack all of my diabetes equipment up and lug a handbag out with me. After doing a quick blood sugar test I resolved, for the first time in years and somewhat indignantly, to walk out of the door with just my keys, phone and bank card, my arm in hers and not an ounce of diabetes guilt.
It sounds completely ridiculous, but I am never more than about two metres from my finger pricker, test strips and little pocket pancreas at any one time, so leaving it in the house was really quite something. The rationale was thus – basal was running as normal, if I went hypo I would know and could order a lemonade from the bar. And if something really went awry, I could head back home and check my bloods in the same time it would take to pop to the loo.
One drink turned into two, then into three, and the most irresponsible decision of the evening was nothing to do with my diabetes, but for us all to skip dinner in favour of ordering one more bottle of Malbec.
It was glorious, it was freeing, it was not an act of defiance or irresponsibility but an acknowledgement of the needs of my condition versus the need to overanalyse, to be attached, to be constantly thinking about what my blood sugars might be doing and guess what? My bloods were just fine.
PS. If you’re in Crouch Hill and want a dose of cosy, pop into Brave Sir Robin for a rendezvous with these dreamy interiors.