Wednesday 6th June, 2012
As I write this, in the comfort of the Prestonian drizzle, I firstly ought to apologise to those whose inboxes have suddenly had an influx of tedious posts from me.
Suffice to say the last day was dismal, a mixture of bad planning, big hangovers, misery and waiting. A lot of waiting. Most people had a cheeky little seven hour gap between leaving their little houses and leaving for the airport. Someone is responsible but he shan’t be named, in the same way he’s not been named at all throughout.
The short and flip flops look I was rocking all day didn’t quite work when I got back to Manchester in 9 degrees and rain. Never mind.
So there we have it. I got four hours of very disorientated sleep; four hours because I’ve got a rehearsal in a minute; disorientated because the previous seven sleeps had been consumed by alcohol and my body didn’t know how to deal with sleeping without that. Grim. Today I shall rehearse and forget all about my silly little time in France.
Thanks for reading. Onward and sidewards as always, climbing the dizzy heights of adequacy.
Drinking done: None.
Marking done: Well, none, but I’ve already done loads of work and it’s only half 8.
Morale: Rock bottom.