Oh dear, too much fun and then you have to pay for it.
I'm not just verbose on paper, but also in real life.
I am now in the same category as people who teach in a shouty way, sing loudly, support football teams too fervently and children who scream a lot.
My vocal cords are damaged and I have got to be QUIET.
Being "Mrs Mute" is very very tiresome.
I go out planning to sit and be the perfect listener, or adopt a slightly mysterious attitude.
But everyone just keeps asking if I am in a bad mood.
I AM!!! (Capitals are the only sort of shouting I can do at the moment.)
Our lovely nephew Brian was admitted to the bar in the High Court in Auckland last Friday.
Outside the building were some people who looked as if they were more likely to be admitted to jail than anywhere else and made a strange contrast with their tattoos and I-don't-give-a-damn clothes to the about-to-be barristers in their wigs and gowns.
The whole admission process is glorious pomp and ceremony and all the better for it - a worthy reward for more than five years of eye-wateringly dull study.
After we'd taken the mandatory photos, we headed into town for lunch and drinks followed by dinner and drinks - we never really learn.
It was so much fun seeing all the formerly unruly Queenstown boys who make up our children's group of friends - the Darby twins and James Parker, for instance - now dressed smartly and offering to buy us drinks, which was quite a turnaround.
And suddenly it was bedtime.
Our hotel was cunningly located opposite the Viaduct, and the Friday night noise made me swear I was sleeping in a bar. I wasn't.
It made me realise people who book into downtown hotels, only to turn around and complain about the noise, are insane.
There are plenty of quiet places to stay five minutes away and anyone with half a brain and an interest in sleeping would stay in those.
We deliberately booked a hotel near the Blue Mosque in Istanbul once, just so we could absorb the atmosphere.
However, after five mornings of being called to prayer by an enormous loudspeaker (maybe one of those would be useful for me at the moment) while it was still dark, we felt we had absorbed as much of that atmosphere as we needed.
This weekend might be tricky on the sleep front as we recently got a Facebook invitation to a 21st, and were told to reply immediately and indicate if we needed a bed. Well, we do, but since the party is at our house I'm feeling a little bit entitled to my own bed, thanks very much.
Our son and his friend are holding a joint party, but our son is probably going to have a quieter 21st than he planned: he's on some very strong antibiotics after falling on some broken glass on St Patrick's Day.
It's a wonder anyone living in one of those student flats isn't needing full-time antibiotic protection. They're a total health hazard.
The Art of Racing in the Rain.
It's about Enzo, a motor-racing enthusiast and a specialist in counselling and comforting. He's a marvellous listener and very, very loyal. He's a dog.
The book starts when Enzo knows he is getting to the end of his life and he starts thinking back on how this particular life has gone.
He's quite a believer in reincarnation.
In his review of this life, his whole family suffers a terrible blow when one of them gets ill and it's up to him to pull things back together again.
He does this by following the example of great drivers (he's particularly keen on Ayrton Senna) "Ideally, a driver is a master of all that is around him ... in our world, surprises sometimes happen, mistakes happen, incidents with other drivers happen, and a driver must react."
Enzo's passion for his family could be nauseatingly sentimental in a less careful author's hands, but Stein is brilliant.
This dog's eye view of a family drama is very funny in parts, but also very moving, because he cares so deeply about the outcomes.
Even though I know nothing (in fact, make that less than nothing) about motor racing, even I could understand most of the car bits and enjoy the way they fit into the story so neatly.
This is a real treasure.
I just got an email from Anne Rodda who co-ordinates the Michael Hill Violin Competition.
She was telling me to go to the Passing Wind concert - me?
I've had my tickets for weeks and can't wait for this or any of the other shows.
There are still some tickets left for some of the Festival of Colour shows in Queenstown: get online to book or go along to iSite in the Clocktower Building.
And in case you didn't know, the reason the tickets are all such good value is the enormously generous support of our local trusts and sponsors who have subsidised the programme so enthusiastically.
These are great shows, and the best way to ensure we keep getting this opportunity is to buy a ticket.
The festival runs from April 12 to 17 and Queenstown is getting the world premiere of Jennifer Ward-Lealand and Michael Houstoun's production Rita and Douglas on April 12.
Passing Wind is at 1pm and 6pm the following day.
You can dance until you drop on April 14 at Ole Ola and finally, the next day, the Phoenix Foundation drop into town fresh from their hugely successful European tour.
Get along and enjoy it all.
