Balls. I remember saying last night “that’s brilliant. I’m going to use that in “Overheard in My Office (except at the pub)” and then promptly forgot it. I’m blaming Gin. Wine may also have a few things to answer for. Mind you, it’s probably for the best if it was better/worse than “so a rapist has your phone number”.
I also recall having a long conversation with senior people from the Business Section, who, despite listening to me telling them I still count on my fingers, convinced me I should write stories for them sometimes. Because clearly, I’m some sort of Ace Journalist who can write about businessy things. Buy! Sell! High! Low! (in my head Kato, that’s what you guys do. I’m not sure why…)
In other news, I did not trip up in my massive heels and I believe there was some kind of kebab. Which probably accounts for my feeling better than I deserve to. Although I’m probably (or actually) still drunk.
That would explain why I woke up on the couch, although, to be fair, I managed to adorn myself with some kind of pyjama – full of Win.
So in a complete change of pace I’m going to laze around for many hours reading on my Kindle, contemplating the bigger issues of the day, such as “did I just dye my hair too dark?” and waiting until I get my 1990s grunge on with two dear pals later today. We’re going to drink wine and watch Singles (possibly also Pump up the Volume or Heathers) and listen to Alice in Chains and decide who loves Eddie Vedder more. Let’s be honest, I’ve got a terrible ill-advised Pearl Jam tattoo I got when I was drunk when I was 17. I think I will win this game, just quietly.