Dolly Dinners: I Will Forever Hate Rosé

This really has been the week from hell, which is why I've decided to resurrect our Dolly Dinners. Dolly always makes me smile, even when she sings sad songs.

I Will Forever Hate Roses is one of the tracks from Dolly's latest album, Backwoods Barbie, while I Will Forever Hate Rosé is one of the phrases from mine and Charlotte's latest conversations, following the backyard barbie we went to on Sunday.

It all started with the washing machine. It had a funny turn on Sunday morning and after a good hour of twiddling its knobs, we were forced to give up and switch it off in order to get to our friends' place in time for an afternoon of al fresco eating and merriment in the sun. However, if something's broken and needs fixing, it does tend to occupy my thoughts, and perhaps this is largely the reason why the first glass of wine I was given was consumed so quickly - to try and block out all thoughts of our unresolved laundry problems.

If it had been red wine or white wine, things wouldn't have turned out as they did, I'm sure of it. I know my boundaries with those beverages, but the problem with rosé is that it looks so innocent - that delicate blushing hue, it's so bloody deceptive. It's not innnocent at all. Our friends laid on a fantastic, delicious and perfectly cooked spread of barbequed meats and colourful, tasty salads - some had chopped appple and pear in, which I thought worked really well with the meat. The conversation flowed. The afternoon was immensely enjoyable, until I stopped counting the number of glasses I'd consumed. It was quite bizarre that everyone turned up with bottles rosé, us included.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, Charlotte ended up with her head down the toilet and I, slightly less inebriated, managed to walk her home, only to drunkenly slip as I closed the sliding doors of our double wardrobe, so that my hand ended up taking the brunt of the heavy oncoming wood panel. The following morning saw me down the hospital and my hand was in a sling for two days subsequently.

In addition to these disasters, it turns out that the washing machine can't be mended until next week, which means that we're going to have to handwash our smalls - not an easy task with only one working hand. And, completely unconnected (although I'm sure the curse of the rosé is responsible), our phoneline has been severed by the builders outside and I've woken up with a sore throat this morning.

This is why I will forever hate rosé.