12 days of Christmas – New Year’s Day
Happy new year.
The paracetamol was about as much use as peeing into a volcano. To really sort out the hangover I had to break out the Monster Munch and lots of soup – I just haven’t got the energy to chew.
Party last night was excellent – from what I recall. Champagne was good, as were the black velvets which, in retrospect, is not my drink and may be the reason for my current fatigued state. Either that or the dancing. After last year I went with a list of twenty decent songs for the DJ to play if he looked like he was playing too much bloody youth music. The list was deployed, as were some of my smooth moves. Hardcore uproar on the dance floor ensued – let us hope no photographic evidence exists that could come back to haunt me if ever I seek office or simply to be taken seriously as an adult.
Back to work tomorrow – a prospect I am facing with equal parts dread and resentment. I’ve just got into the swing of wandering into the kitchen any time I like and having a small glass of something to take the edge off while rooting through the fridge in order to see what can be pushed between two slices of bread to form a sustaining snack to tide me over until dinner. I don’t see why I should curb a habit like that – it seems the only sane response in a world gone mad.
Drinking and eating may not be the solution to the world’s problems (well, apart from thirst and hunger, obviously it’s the solution to those) but, with Kenya and Pakistan both convulsing and discord apparently still rife in 2008, it’s not a bad way to occupy yourself while formulating a sane response to a world gone, going or continuing to be, mad.
The paracetamol was about as much use as peeing into a volcano. To really sort out the hangover I had to break out the Monster Munch and lots of soup – I just haven’t got the energy to chew.
Party last night was excellent – from what I recall. Champagne was good, as were the black velvets which, in retrospect, is not my drink and may be the reason for my current fatigued state. Either that or the dancing. After last year I went with a list of twenty decent songs for the DJ to play if he looked like he was playing too much bloody youth music. The list was deployed, as were some of my smooth moves. Hardcore uproar on the dance floor ensued – let us hope no photographic evidence exists that could come back to haunt me if ever I seek office or simply to be taken seriously as an adult.
Back to work tomorrow – a prospect I am facing with equal parts dread and resentment. I’ve just got into the swing of wandering into the kitchen any time I like and having a small glass of something to take the edge off while rooting through the fridge in order to see what can be pushed between two slices of bread to form a sustaining snack to tide me over until dinner. I don’t see why I should curb a habit like that – it seems the only sane response in a world gone mad.
Drinking and eating may not be the solution to the world’s problems (well, apart from thirst and hunger, obviously it’s the solution to those) but, with Kenya and Pakistan both convulsing and discord apparently still rife in 2008, it’s not a bad way to occupy yourself while formulating a sane response to a world gone, going or continuing to be, mad.
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