tarragon

Well, after a long hard slog along the road of post booze-up recovery, which involved sleeping all day within easy reach of a sick bag, I am finally feeling coherent again.

I highly recommend pot noodles and cranberry juice for sorting out hangovers.

I met some great new people. Celeste who dashed into the pub for about 10 seconds, before disappearing into the night again and Anaphalaxis who was great company, at least 50% responsible for my cracking whisky headache, (these people who order doubles! Tch!) and who made me miss the bus home by being completely useless at deciding where he was going. But he did look adorable drunk and with his bus ticket stuck to his forehead.

In a way, I feel somewhat cheated by my inability to get as smashed as everyone else. After at least 10 glasses of whisky I wasnt in the least bit tipsy, apart from a wobbly five minutes in The Bath House when it suddenly occured to everyone that phoning Rainwolfkin while she was stuck at home in essay writing hell was a really good idea. I dont think I managed a single complete sentance for the whole time I was talking to her, at least until Suicidedoggie wrestled the phone back off me anyway.

I apologise to Bateman for attempting to kick him in the ass and missing. I hope your thigh isnt too bruised dude. It was great fun chatting to you again and, as always, much fun to play with your tummy hair.