Parting is such sweet sorrow - and the hangover is a right pain to deal with, too ...

I’m sitting here in my cheerful but messy kitchen in Bath wondering exactly where I live. The trip to Liverpool was wonderful - frenetic, bizarre, frustrating, emotional, tiring, energising, evocative, delightful and ridiculous, all in equal measure - and that was only day one. Triple that list of superlatives and criticisms, add a few more (but make them camp, wontcha?) and you’ll have just about nudged the tip of the iceberg when it comes to getting a flavour for the experience as a whole. But here, for your delectation (and probably huge confusion) are the highlights, in no particular order of greatest hits. Bear in mind that as I said, this is iceberg-tip-nudging: I’ve come home with copious diary scribbles and a whole raft of inspiration for future posts (and future short stories) ... but I’ve also come home with a mammoth hangover and what feels like a year’s worth of work catch-up to do, so for now, a few nibbles will have to do. Are you ready? ‘ere we go, ‘ere we go, ‘ere we go:

VickiTonyGeeJessCuddlesPaulnChris - what a family! Pop went the champagne corks, back came the scouse accent, on went about five stone in weight ... memories are made of this.

My marvellous mum!!!! (yup, she gets a category all of her own - ‘nuff said).

St Tropez spray-on instant all-over tan: even though it’s just about the most inelegant, intimate thing you can have done to yourself by a total stranger without actually going under the knife (hint: it gets up your bum), I am now an addict. WAG, moi? When in Rome ...

Spending the best part of 24 hours shopping for and then preparing a party buffet, only to be upstaged by an unexpected contribution of homemade curry on the night. But who cares? I still won an award for being a Nigella Lawson clone ... and loads of people told me that the curry was too hot anyway. Pah!

The party itself (see above) - massive thanks to all involved, and hello to the lovely new friends I made there (Shaun: you sure can vogue, but when it comes to Supremes routines, I’m the supreme champion).

Being reminded that when I shared a flat with KirkbyGirl’s BF, he had a knitting machine (see, Dollface - I got there first!). Nobody (including Sol) could remember why he got it, where it came from or where it went, but I know for sure that somewhere in the darkest recesses of my many memory boxes, there exists a faded polaroid of me wearing a black and red houndstooth check monstrosity, made by KG’s BF’s fair hands.

‘That’ super8 footage of The Wedding of the Century - memories are made of this part two.

Keith’s Wine Bar on Friday night, Parr Street on Sunday night, Slang’s flat early on Monday morning - you know who you all are, and I know that I couldn’t have better - or bitchier! - friends. Winning line? “More of a star than you’ll ever be, love” ... but I guess you had to be there. I’m so glad I was.

And then I slept all the way home ... or wherever it is I am right now.