“I've a grand memory for forgetting.” - Robert Louis Stevenson

"My brain is like a sieve
sometimes it's easier to forget"

It's very late and surprisingly cold. In as much as I only turned the heating off at midnight (the horror!). Already the temperature in here has dropped to blanket requiring levels. Oh well.

Speaking of horror, it's time I spoke a little about the disaster of the so-called night out.
Starting in true 'Lost' fashion I will begin at the end - Suddenly I realise it's after 3am, and I'm sitting, as usual, at the computer. How did I get here?
I think back and cannot recall any dancing. Then I realise I'm very hungry and that I can't locate a memory of eating anything. I give up the mental strain and somehow manage to type a quick blog entry and go to bed, in that order.

The next morning I wake up, but only technically. My limbs refuse to operate and my mind is far far from it's usual razor sharp state (sarcasm alert).
To put it bluntly I fee like crap - is this what a hangover feels like?.
When I do manage to get up and get ready for work, it's all done at the minimum human speed possible. On the way to work, I notice the tracks of high heeled shoes on my pathway in the snow, and that's when I really start worry.

At work I have the truth is revealed to me. I had nothing to eat on Friday, because I was looking froward to the big meal. Due to the fire alert I mentioned the other day, the food is delayed somewhat, allowing your foolish author to get VERY drunk, VERY quickly.
I proceeded to make a complete fool of myself, albeit in an apparently comical way, then throw up all over my good friend Kirsty. She's such a nice person that she kindly bundled me into her car (despite glass like icy surfaces) and escorted me home. As I was struggling through the front door as she drove off, it was still only around 10pm, so the whole evening had lasted less than two hours. From nought to idiot in 120 minutes.

Friends I tell you this, although I am a complete atheist, I suspect the universe doesn't want me to have a social life (oh I admit I give it a helping hand now and again).

Until next time, this is your friend, Billy Hopkinson saying goodnight. Er... Goodnight.

“There is no man, however wise, who has not at some period of his youth said things, or lived in a way the consciousness of which is so unpleasant to him in later life that he would gladly, if he could, expunge it from his memory.” - Marcel Proust