Everybody did seem to be having fun on Boxing Night (Stephen's Night for our southern viewers, there).
Order of service for the evening was roughly as follows.
Got ready to leave Tyrone at about 3:00. Plan was reviewed when Fr O. called round. The craic, as ever, was good with him. Not your usual brand of priest... So then, belted it up the M1 to get to the Bot (via C&L's place) in time to meet everyone and share a taxi to Ravenhill. Got there, said hello, hugs/handshakes were exchanged, and then we hopped into various forms of transport to get over there. Or at least as close as we or the taxi driver could figure out to where Ravenhill is. It's always had this mystical quality — entirely attributable to drink — like the platform in Harry Potter (there's another blog reference for them). You're never quite sure where it is, but you always end up finding it. Right enough, the sixty-foot floodlights probably give it away, but there we are...
Anyway, got there, and split into our two factions. Me, Gerry, Colin, Pete and his brothers on the promenade side; the Cullybackey Man, M, Shaun and Shaun's sister on the terrace side. In a much better position than the corner in which we found ourselves. I spent most of the first half talking to Arse Cvnt, as he used to be known in Greek, only half keeping an eye on the game. We nipped off five minutes before half-time for some lack-lustre chips and some sort of sausage, before the second, spirit-crushing half. I'm starting to wonder if I'm not some sort of jinx on rugby teams. If I was a superhero, my special power would be the little-coveted "Making My Team Forget How to Catch the Bloody Ball Once It's Passed" power. I'm sure DC and Marvel have a stack of such back-up characters for a rainy day...
Back in the real world (or the nearest APS drunken equivalent), post-match we slowly rendez-voused at the entrance to the beer tent. WIthout getting any beer, which — given the journey which followed — was a stroke of luck. When J, M and the Bloomfields appeared, we headed off "towards" the Errigle. Led by Gerry, who knew as much about where we were going as J ever does when drunk (learned that lesson the hard way in Cambridge). Only when Dr AC realised that he used to work for Thales where we were walking did we do an about-turn and completely go back on ourselves, all the way to the stadium, and thence to the Ormeau Road. I hate not having a sense of direction: I'm inclined to believe others who don't have on either.
Eventually got to pub feeling distinctly sober, despite Pete and Gerry's whiskey supplies during the second half. Then, we managed a Guinness. Everyone decided that I was rubbish at being gay because I should be good at co-ordinating colours but am, in fact, rather colourblind. I eloquently told them where to shove their opinions and made a mental note to check the disability discrimination act. (I have a feeling I won't, and that it wouldn't help anyway, but that's hardly the point.)
Wednesday 28 December 2005
Too much information
I'm in two minds as to whether or not to remove most (or all) of the last few posts.
I don't want to put up incriminating evidence which can be traced back to the individuals concerned.
More in a minute...
I don't want to put up incriminating evidence which can be traced back to the individuals concerned.
More in a minute...
Friday 23 December 2005
Prologue: Pre-party night
Yeah, the reason I was so knocked out on Age's birthday night was simple.
It was a Friday, I was suffering minor economic melt-down, and had just decided to drop the mountain of work I was trying to carry successfully across the deadline. Mixed metaphors, I'm sure.
Solution?
At this point, LS bounds in using the spare key, and demands we look at porn on the interweb. We do. Then, about 15 minutes later, in falls the Aussie, with Rob off of his office.
Rob is decidedly my type. Small, compact, wiry as you like. Oh yeah, and — the usual kicker — he's really straight. Thanks for that. Very comfy around lords, but really straight.
But I don't care. So, after LS and the Aussie have a bit of banter with us, LS disappears off to bed, while I fire up the recently-ressurected shisha for me, Age and Rob. I've recently taken a shine to this bit of kit, so I like to share and share alike with those I like :o)
Over vodka and coke, the three of us yammer away. Rob's finding it funny how Age and LS get on, saying it's exactly how he and the Aussie go on. And Age and I puff away at the shisha. Eventually, Rob gives in and sacrifices some of his fitness (medical only, I note</pest>), and joins us in the smoking. As a non-smoker, I get a hell of a kick out of these things. I'm not used to the usual nicotine rush, and Mr Rob is the same.
As the night wears on to about 3:30 (they piled in about 1:30), Age decides he's had enough booze and tobacco, and heads to bed. Rob checks to make sure I'm not going to bed yet, in a way which I take to mean something between "please stay up and talk" and "please stay here and stare at my arms when you think I'm not looking".
ACtually, now I think of it, there was something else that gave me the wrong signal. He'd got off with teh wrong girl at the orifice do that night, and wanted to talk about it. He was really down on himself for embarrassing her (bless 'im) and said that he didn't want to be on his own that night. (Guess whose radar blipped at that!)
But, regardless, the guy is really cool to chat with, too. He's good craic and extremely laid back. Even though he wasn't a lord, and even if I was drunk and horny (theme of the weekend?), I was still happy to sit up and talk shite. Not often I've got to do that recently, so I was pretty chuffed, if a little sheepish, when I saw that there was more light coming in through the window than escaping out of it. It was about 8:00. Feck. I felt like a teenager who's just been up drinking all night for the first time. Ha!
As we'd laid off the booze for a couple of hours, he decided to head for home.
So this all explains my knackered state the next day. I'd had about 12 hours' half-decent sleep in the last three nights, after all.
Cool night. Always nice to meet someone new and cool.
(I'm also thinking that there's a lot of bridges I need to repair in 2006. And some explaining to do on my part...)
It was a Friday, I was suffering minor economic melt-down, and had just decided to drop the mountain of work I was trying to carry successfully across the deadline. Mixed metaphors, I'm sure.
Solution?
- Go to gym
- Hope to see light-blue-t-shirt guy
- Fail to (not part of solution)
- Come home and cook dinner
- Eat dinner in front of TV with some fridge-stock beer
- Go upstairs and log on to well-known online service whose name may or may not rhyme with radar (yeah, sorry — should've mentioned this in the catch-up — was a drunken creation) and see if I've any messages
- Find message from nearby dude who looks cute (okay, also not part of solution, but definitely a bonus)
At this point, LS bounds in using the spare key, and demands we look at porn on the interweb. We do. Then, about 15 minutes later, in falls the Aussie, with Rob off of his office.
Rob is decidedly my type. Small, compact, wiry as you like. Oh yeah, and — the usual kicker — he's really straight. Thanks for that. Very comfy around lords, but really straight.
But I don't care. So, after LS and the Aussie have a bit of banter with us, LS disappears off to bed, while I fire up the recently-ressurected shisha for me, Age and Rob. I've recently taken a shine to this bit of kit, so I like to share and share alike with those I like :o)
Over vodka and coke, the three of us yammer away. Rob's finding it funny how Age and LS get on, saying it's exactly how he and the Aussie go on. And Age and I puff away at the shisha. Eventually, Rob gives in and sacrifices some of his fitness (medical only, I note</pest>), and joins us in the smoking. As a non-smoker, I get a hell of a kick out of these things. I'm not used to the usual nicotine rush, and Mr Rob is the same.
As the night wears on to about 3:30 (they piled in about 1:30), Age decides he's had enough booze and tobacco, and heads to bed. Rob checks to make sure I'm not going to bed yet, in a way which I take to mean something between "please stay up and talk" and "please stay here and stare at my arms when you think I'm not looking".
ACtually, now I think of it, there was something else that gave me the wrong signal. He'd got off with teh wrong girl at the orifice do that night, and wanted to talk about it. He was really down on himself for embarrassing her (bless 'im) and said that he didn't want to be on his own that night. (Guess whose radar blipped at that!)
But, regardless, the guy is really cool to chat with, too. He's good craic and extremely laid back. Even though he wasn't a lord, and even if I was drunk and horny (theme of the weekend?), I was still happy to sit up and talk shite. Not often I've got to do that recently, so I was pretty chuffed, if a little sheepish, when I saw that there was more light coming in through the window than escaping out of it. It was about 8:00. Feck. I felt like a teenager who's just been up drinking all night for the first time. Ha!
As we'd laid off the booze for a couple of hours, he decided to head for home.
So this all explains my knackered state the next day. I'd had about 12 hours' half-decent sleep in the last three nights, after all.
Cool night. Always nice to meet someone new and cool.
(I'm also thinking that there's a lot of bridges I need to repair in 2006. And some explaining to do on my part...)
When an Australian has his birthday bash
Okay, I said in the last post </plays trumpet></gets shot for bad gag> that I'd talk about the Aussie's birthday party chez Aggy.
It was Saturday, a couple of weeks ago. For whatever reason, we were both a little low on fuel, but we sailed over to Tescos, bought the booze (and some food to prop ourselves up with), and — with 20 minutes to go before people were allowed to start arriving — we decided on a last-ditch furniture rearrangement.
And it actually worked! (I put it down to helping Mr Bridger move house twice in six months)
We got the old sofa into the dining room, hence creating some much-needed strutting space in the living room. (This was to have interesting consequences for me later in the night, but that's for later in the story.)
After the first guest pointed out the blunder of us not having any lime or soda, she and I headed back to my ...favourite supermarket to right this terrile wrong. We solved it with organic limes, in case the lack of detail is killing you.
Back at the house, about a half an hour, six limes, two bottles of soda, a bottle of tonic (for me) and two-toothbrushes-for-the-price-of-one later, people were arriving in force. Lord Simon had escaped his wedding technical support duties, so that important box was ticked for the Aussie, and H&F, Jumper, Chilled (a.k.a. Guitar) Chris, Rob (Ah, now I remember why I wasn't so energetic), and various others had already made their entrance.
I, however, still hadn't showered or shaved that day, having only got up at about 3:00 to get into town, in order to buy Age's present and a new shirt for me (mandatory for parties), meet him and Cool Jen for coffee, and then get home to eat. I therefore did the Triple-S, then joined the party people in the dining area (now with added sofa).
We're talking gone 9:30 by the time I get back to the only-just-begun glass of Pinot Grigio that I left in order to source lime and soda. So I'm feeling a little behind in proceedings, but not so bad I go quiet.
Anyroad, LS had once again pulled out the stops and brought over four lights and two pretty good speakers to give the whole thing some more cred. (I'd warned the Nice Neighbours two nights before, supplying them with some Bordeaux (adults) and a fancy chocolate cake (kids) by way of advance apology). So he dragged me into the living room where I saw, and greatly appreciated, the whole setup.
As usual, though, I missed the crucial point where he went from being a sociable, entirely-in-control chap to being a drunken monkey. If I'm on the same level as him, I can handle it just fine. The theory that the Aussie and I are pursuing is that he went a bit wonky in the presence of a load of people he doesn't know. Jumper called him something the following week which rhymes with "Bob". Which I understood — I could see him shrinking into his shell at every encounter between the two — but feels odd, as LS and I get on grand. Anyway, not all your friends are going to get on with each other. I'm learning that lesson more and more. It's not all one big happy family. All you can do is enjoy their company yourself.
So, the craic was good. Because of the previous night's irresponsibility (well, fuck-it — it was a Friday night with good company), I slid straight from tiredness into drunken energy, and ended up doing a lot of dancing. This is where it becomes a little hazy, but I do remember the following elements:
Then the morals kicked in. Feck.
Having been sat beside him, rather than looking straight at him, I hadn't realised he was actually quite shit-faced. When I moved around to, er.. see his face, let's say, I realised. And that was the tin hat on it &mdhash; there was no way I was going to push him to do anything now. Best case scenario, it would be taking advantage; worst case scenario, there could've been nasty charges. Anyroad, I thought that was that. I think Age told him to get his coat (the guy could barely stand by now, it was that bad), helped him into it, and he bounced his way off the walls to the front door, slurring something in a heavy Swedish accent.
LS, the Aussie and I held a drunken conference at Si's insistence in the hall, and as we were doing so, the doorbell rang again. Scan bar boy. He came in and the Aussie sat him down on the living room sofa. Age and I had both had a feeling he'd come back to talk in secret to some kindred spirits. As I was the one who'd been planning on chancing my arm, and as LS was not being subtle in any way, I escorted him out to the dining room to talk about it out of earshot.
So, after we'd been sent out for a while, the Aussie summons us back in for an announcement from bar boy. I even remember him telling bar boy that he was amongst friends, but he said nothing. I rewound back to the night after the old veggie restaurant outing a long time ago, and could understand. Bar boy was not quite ready yet. Fair enough: Mr Wait-til-you're-27 wasn't exactly going to condescend...
So I got out the sleeping bag, and we cobbled a bed of sorts together for him on the sofa bed that he wasn't about to get up off in order for us to make it an actual bed.
He was gone by the next morning. Hope he's alright, poor guy.
It was Saturday, a couple of weeks ago. For whatever reason, we were both a little low on fuel, but we sailed over to Tescos, bought the booze (and some food to prop ourselves up with), and — with 20 minutes to go before people were allowed to start arriving — we decided on a last-ditch furniture rearrangement.
And it actually worked! (I put it down to helping Mr Bridger move house twice in six months)
We got the old sofa into the dining room, hence creating some much-needed strutting space in the living room. (This was to have interesting consequences for me later in the night, but that's for later in the story.)
After the first guest pointed out the blunder of us not having any lime or soda, she and I headed back to my ...favourite supermarket to right this terrile wrong. We solved it with organic limes, in case the lack of detail is killing you.
Back at the house, about a half an hour, six limes, two bottles of soda, a bottle of tonic (for me) and two-toothbrushes-for-the-price-of-one later, people were arriving in force. Lord Simon had escaped his wedding technical support duties, so that important box was ticked for the Aussie, and H&F, Jumper, Chilled (a.k.a. Guitar) Chris, Rob (Ah, now I remember why I wasn't so energetic), and various others had already made their entrance.
I, however, still hadn't showered or shaved that day, having only got up at about 3:00 to get into town, in order to buy Age's present and a new shirt for me (mandatory for parties), meet him and Cool Jen for coffee, and then get home to eat. I therefore did the Triple-S, then joined the party people in the dining area (now with added sofa).
We're talking gone 9:30 by the time I get back to the only-just-begun glass of Pinot Grigio that I left in order to source lime and soda. So I'm feeling a little behind in proceedings, but not so bad I go quiet.
Anyroad, LS had once again pulled out the stops and brought over four lights and two pretty good speakers to give the whole thing some more cred. (I'd warned the Nice Neighbours two nights before, supplying them with some Bordeaux (adults) and a fancy chocolate cake (kids) by way of advance apology). So he dragged me into the living room where I saw, and greatly appreciated, the whole setup.
As usual, though, I missed the crucial point where he went from being a sociable, entirely-in-control chap to being a drunken monkey. If I'm on the same level as him, I can handle it just fine. The theory that the Aussie and I are pursuing is that he went a bit wonky in the presence of a load of people he doesn't know. Jumper called him something the following week which rhymes with "Bob". Which I understood — I could see him shrinking into his shell at every encounter between the two — but feels odd, as LS and I get on grand. Anyway, not all your friends are going to get on with each other. I'm learning that lesson more and more. It's not all one big happy family. All you can do is enjoy their company yourself.
So, the craic was good. Because of the previous night's irresponsibility (well, fuck-it — it was a Friday night with good company), I slid straight from tiredness into drunken energy, and ended up doing a lot of dancing. This is where it becomes a little hazy, but I do remember the following elements:
- LS taking me aside to ask me various questions with quite serious tones about himself and the Aussie
- me desperately trying not to get involved any more than I already am — they're two of my best friends in Guildford, and see them more than most
- LS setting fire to the hair of some visiting bar boy he liked
- The Aussie, rather understandably, being distinctly upset with boyfriend-based, albeit JD-induced, hair pyromania, and telling him this
- Me naffing off to phone the Cullybackey man, and being somewhat taken aback when Dr R answered it!
- Me staying on the phone for about 5 minutes
- Going back inside to find the Aussie in a quiet mood
- LS sitting on the sofa in the dining room showing hardcore twink movies to the bar boys in what is possible the least subtle attempt ever to gauge the tacklability of another bloke
- Rob having gone home, and LS trying to persuade me that what I needed to do was text him. The Aussie assured me this would be a Bad Idea?
- Dancing like a loose-limbed wonder with two of the Aussie's female, very good craic workmates
- Dancing, randomly, with one of the bar boys, who was clearly going through something of an identity crisis, if the swings between his camp dancing and then very macho non-dancing were any indication (and they were).
- Sobering up ...a little (wouldn't like to overstate this)
Then the morals kicked in. Feck.
Having been sat beside him, rather than looking straight at him, I hadn't realised he was actually quite shit-faced. When I moved around to, er.. see his face, let's say, I realised. And that was the tin hat on it &mdhash; there was no way I was going to push him to do anything now. Best case scenario, it would be taking advantage; worst case scenario, there could've been nasty charges. Anyroad, I thought that was that. I think Age told him to get his coat (the guy could barely stand by now, it was that bad), helped him into it, and he bounced his way off the walls to the front door, slurring something in a heavy Swedish accent.
LS, the Aussie and I held a drunken conference at Si's insistence in the hall, and as we were doing so, the doorbell rang again. Scan bar boy. He came in and the Aussie sat him down on the living room sofa. Age and I had both had a feeling he'd come back to talk in secret to some kindred spirits. As I was the one who'd been planning on chancing my arm, and as LS was not being subtle in any way, I escorted him out to the dining room to talk about it out of earshot.
So, after we'd been sent out for a while, the Aussie summons us back in for an announcement from bar boy. I even remember him telling bar boy that he was amongst friends, but he said nothing. I rewound back to the night after the old veggie restaurant outing a long time ago, and could understand. Bar boy was not quite ready yet. Fair enough: Mr Wait-til-you're-27 wasn't exactly going to condescend...
So I got out the sleeping bag, and we cobbled a bed of sorts together for him on the sofa bed that he wasn't about to get up off in order for us to make it an actual bed.
He was gone by the next morning. Hope he's alright, poor guy.
The old ah-so
Well, that was a bit of a long break from posting, now, wasn't it? Seventeen days. by my reckoning.
How to explain? Not sure there's much to say. Just what's happened in the meantime, I guess.
But I'll start with the latest and most exciting news: it looks like J-land is definitely on!!
</scary></cool, though>
(The new contract starts in April, handily on the fourth anniversary of me starting at the place.)
Ergo, I'm currently investigating places to live in'n'around Tokyo, as well various ways that might help me to learn the oul' Nihon-go... Those Kanji flashcards might just do the trick. In the meantime, I'm trying to learn about ten katakana, and I'm going to get the Youngest to try and test me on them later. Ah so.
I've got (very) approximately (thanks to the unique way these things work) eight months to get to grips with the basic language, where to live, what to do in public, what NOT to do in public more importantly, how much I'm going to be paid, whether I'll get a laptop, and probably a million-and-one things that are more important, but haven't occurred to my slightly bewildered head just yet!
And, breathe...
The Aussie sounded like shite warmed up this morning, thanks to him visiting Fahrenheit 55 till the very VERY wee hours of this morning (the finishing time he quoted began with a "five"). At the other end of the night, I'd had to phone Lord Simon to make sure he was up at 12:30 am. My life in Augher, quite deliberately, is very sedate by comparison.
I...
...like it.</Louis Walsh>
A lot.
So what's been the craic since the last time...? A rather sedate first half of December, due to a large influx of bills, etc. Changed everything over from Dr R's name to my own, which now (hopefully) means I should be able to hook Age and meself up with broadband. This is a dull but — in my scatter-brained life — significantly significant piece of <ahem> "actually sorting my fucked-up life out".
Elsewhere, I hit a point not long after the last post where I realised it was going to be impossible to get everything done that I was being asked to do on time. So I stopped trying. It was like a strange Zen calm had come over me.
I plan on doing this on a more regular basis.
That, and employing the ancient Norn Iron wisdom "Catch yerself on" when being prodded by my employers.
What else.... Oh aye, Age's birthday party, a couple of weeks ago. See the next post for that one ;o)
Rounding it all off, for now, I just wanted to say — and she'll never read this, unless the world really is a very small place — a big congratulations to the Cullybackey Man's sister on her wedding today. She was the same Pisshead Diploma year as meself, and even came to my graduation in place of Himself, who was stuck in the America, being told that his arms were too long for his body. (You can imagine the likely chat-up lines that followed. Hello, ladies, etc.)
Anyway: Well done, Anne, on escaping all family name ties to the Cullybackey Man. I'm sure you'll never look back.
Tuesday 6 December 2005
Worst to best gym session...
...EVER!
When I got to the gym lastnight, straight from work, I was a bit pissed off that I'd forgotten my swimming shorts. Only had my new "track pants", so I couldn't use the spa or steam room. Which is what I normally treat myself to now at the end. (Helps me not to glow quite so Bright Unfit Red™ afterwards, too...)
Anyway, got changed, wandered in on auto-pilot... then as I was starting up, I actually looked around.
It was like that scene in 40 days and 40 nights! Everywhere I looked, talent. I was starting to wonder if Age had spiked my tea the previous night with testosterone, and it was making me see things. Particularly this one guy who — coincidentally? — ended up synchronising with me... What a body... what a face!
Moral of the story: I now know what time I'm going to the gym on Mondays!
</pest>
When I got to the gym lastnight, straight from work, I was a bit pissed off that I'd forgotten my swimming shorts. Only had my new "track pants", so I couldn't use the spa or steam room. Which is what I normally treat myself to now at the end. (Helps me not to glow quite so Bright Unfit Red™ afterwards, too...)
Anyway, got changed, wandered in on auto-pilot... then as I was starting up, I actually looked around.
It was like that scene in 40 days and 40 nights! Everywhere I looked, talent. I was starting to wonder if Age had spiked my tea the previous night with testosterone, and it was making me see things. Particularly this one guy who — coincidentally? — ended up synchronising with me... What a body... what a face!
Moral of the story: I now know what time I'm going to the gym on Mondays!
</pest>
Friday 2 December 2005
Winged it, once again!
As per usual... Hard to beat the oul' CBS bluffery!
So, I went and gave a talk in Essex lastnight. Was a bit scared crossing the Thames to go North. Anything could've happened! But it didn't. The only thing was that I was knackered after a day of furiously cobbling together the talk, and trying to go through the new planning software, and then having various other distractions. All the while looking at my watch!
Apart — as is so often the case — from the ragged end of the journey there where I first came off on the wrong side of the M25 (was reading the instructions which were implicitly for the clockwise direction), then overshooting past the non-streetlit lane that held the Scout hall... it was all fine. The people were very nice, and even offered me a cup of tea and a chance to drink it before I stood up and rambled. For about an hour. I think I was enthusiastic. Not easy to tell. But the spectroscopy demonstration got pretty much all of them out of their seats (apart from two lovely maturer ladies, who I showed how to use the gratings from their seats)! Bwrilliant!
Joined them in the pub for a half of Genius afterwards, and about an hour's chat. Then fecked off back to this side of the Cabbidle. On the way up, I'd passed Clackett Lane (off of the Plan B trip) and Thurrock services, so I thought I'd pop in to the latter, as it was closer and get some petrol and — more importantly — some coffee!
Amazing how quickly 3/4 of an hour can pass when all your doing is ordering coffee. The shop wasn't open (nor was the susprise bookies!), so no semi-traditional lord mags were purchased. However, I did try a Ritazza hazelnut mocha. I'm not sure I would again. I think there's only chocolate and coffee in a mocha for a very good reason. Couldn't make my mind up whether one of the other customers was fit overall or just had a nice ass... Too tired. I really wanted to just sleep at that stage (just after midnight).
But I got home just before 1:00, after about 170 miles
Anway, back to work now. Gave myself an easy morning this morning, fed the fish (who by now must be wondering what the fvck kind of daily "routine" I think I have), and ambled in to work.
Which is what I should be doing right....
....about.....
....now!
So, I went and gave a talk in Essex lastnight. Was a bit scared crossing the Thames to go North. Anything could've happened! But it didn't. The only thing was that I was knackered after a day of furiously cobbling together the talk, and trying to go through the new planning software, and then having various other distractions. All the while looking at my watch!
Apart — as is so often the case — from the ragged end of the journey there where I first came off on the wrong side of the M25 (was reading the instructions which were implicitly for the clockwise direction), then overshooting past the non-streetlit lane that held the Scout hall... it was all fine. The people were very nice, and even offered me a cup of tea and a chance to drink it before I stood up and rambled. For about an hour. I think I was enthusiastic. Not easy to tell. But the spectroscopy demonstration got pretty much all of them out of their seats (apart from two lovely maturer ladies, who I showed how to use the gratings from their seats)! Bwrilliant!
Joined them in the pub for a half of Genius afterwards, and about an hour's chat. Then fecked off back to this side of the Cabbidle. On the way up, I'd passed Clackett Lane (off of the Plan B trip) and Thurrock services, so I thought I'd pop in to the latter, as it was closer and get some petrol and — more importantly — some coffee!
Amazing how quickly 3/4 of an hour can pass when all your doing is ordering coffee. The shop wasn't open (nor was the susprise bookies!), so no semi-traditional lord mags were purchased. However, I did try a Ritazza hazelnut mocha. I'm not sure I would again. I think there's only chocolate and coffee in a mocha for a very good reason. Couldn't make my mind up whether one of the other customers was fit overall or just had a nice ass... Too tired. I really wanted to just sleep at that stage (just after midnight).
But I got home just before 1:00, after about 170 miles
Anway, back to work now. Gave myself an easy morning this morning, fed the fish (who by now must be wondering what the fvck kind of daily "routine" I think I have), and ambled in to work.
Which is what I should be doing right....
....about.....
....now!
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