It seems that this weekend we are hosting the regional finals of the International Puke Festival. Bit of a surprise for us as we hadn't expected it, but obviously the original hosts decided they had far better things to do and fancied a nice sick-free weekend.
Of course, our venue wasn't ready, especially as the festival started very swiftly after Stevie and I had finished the during-the-night-request-filling-relay (which I won filling 5 requests to Stevie's 3), but things didn't really get started until after Stevie escaped off to football, and I spent some time upstairs with our two competitors.
The event: synchronised puking. Orla obviously heard the silent start whistle just milliseconds before Hamish and threw up on the spare bed (other hotels are available close to the venue), and Hamish followed suit possibly in response to the clear winner (bonus points taking her ahead for volume and surprise).
Further events are scheduled for this afternoon in spite of the bad weather. Both contestants are keen to press on with the improvised puke vessel extravaganza ( what has Stevie done with the buckets?? Ebayed them? ). Our current gold medal contender is lying down with a stainless steel pot on a little stool, while the small gentleman in the silver medal position is busy selecting his own container from the kitchen cupboards as I type (...mmm, silicon teddy bear cake mold, we could have a new gold medallist here!).
All catering has been cancelled, bring your own bland fare (and maybe pots if you need anything cooking), and possibly avoid the teddy bear cake at any future functions in this house.
Right, well I'm off to hand over the commentary to the lovely Stevie...