Tits, ass, God and drink induced psychosis

Friday brought with it all manner of shennanigans. The choir I sing in performed our first concert. As I walked smartly down the aisle in our local church behind my fellow choristers I noticed my husband and friends occupying the last three rows on the bride's side. Their cheering and whooping wasn't consistent with the rest of the audience but I loved it. I was immensely, tearily grateful that they had all come to support me on a Friday night. Most are in young families so paying for a ticket to listen to something they wouldn't normally is a stretch. They stood up and waved their arms around, cheered and clapped loudly. Their energy was fantastic and roused us all into giving our very best performance. After the concert, the choir wandered out into the night under the full moon, trying to gasp in oxygen after expending the energy from every cell to sing a glorious anthem written in celebration of the monarch's coronation. Each of my friends tripped across the lawn to hug me and say hello. It was then that I realised they were, to a man, absolutely plastered. What an impressive effort after spending the last two hours in church.

We skipped off to the pub and formed a merry bunch at the bar. When the bar closed we realised we hadn't had nearly enough to drink so repaired to the world's least glamorous strip bar. In our happy little troupe were a couple of members of the choir who cut a fine dash in their bow-tie and tails. We pole danced (some better than others), drank beer and laughed. Although I have known my friends here for less than three years and some for barely three months, it felt like we were on some sort of naughty school trip. There was a distinctly 'all in the same dormitory' chumminess as we linked arms, hooted at each other's jokes and swapped drinks and cuddles all evening.

As our littlies were staying at their grandparents for the evening, the morning was a highly relaxed affair. The husband and I chatted and relived the evening's events and I nearly burst with love for him when he told me how proud he was of my singing in the concert. I lay back in the spa pool and my mind lazily recalled the taxi drive home, the beans on toast and large glasses of water. But my brain went cold as in a flash I recalled my next movements.

My neighbour had generously leant me a black bustier to wear for the concert. She tucked a safety pin under the zip so it wouldn't fall down. It's a gorgeous little top which she has had for ages and looked after lovingly. Sadly it fared much worse after a mere four hours in my care.

Following baked beans on toast at 2am I tried to get undressed to go to bed. Unable to undo the saftety pin holding the top up, I tried to pull the garment over my head. As I became more entangled and trapped, I began to panic. I felt my chest constrict against the fabric and followed the single remaining course of action. A pair of scissors cut a rough but effective escape down the length of my friend's beloved bustier. I carefully placed it in the bin (to 'hide' the evidence) and wandered off to sleep deeply.