Oh for fuck's sake.
I knew it was a bad idea to go out drinking last night but I never learn from my mistakes.
The moment I said to Sean "yes, I'll meet you at the North London Tavern for one drink only" is the moment I should have seen how the next 12 hours would play out.
Sean and his friend Anna were there. He's gay, she's English and uses the word cunt an awful amount.
I then proceeded on the task I cannot help myself from doing - to unravel all the hard work I'd put in at the gym over the last week.
I drank beer and more beer and more beer until it was gone midnight. Maybe? Anna left and Sean and I stayed and we had another one. Or maybe two. Or three actually.
At one point I remember that it was absolutely essential that I have McDonalds. And my drunk logic is this; a big Mac meal makes you fat so instead I had two (these numbers are pretty vague too) Fillet O'Fish's and two-ish McChicken sandwiches and probably another cheeseburger.
This morning I woke up with the worst fucking hangover (still a bit drunk) while cold, naked and tangled up in the duvet. Nice start to a fucking Monday.
I make my way into work but after a few hours of trying to do something I do the polite thing and leave.
Now at home again I knock over a jar of sand I have from the beach in Newquay which means I have to vacuum.
While doing that I trip, pull and then break the pipe of the vacuum cleaner. I've been trying to wind the goddam thing back into the holder.
Last night I should have put a load of washing on, gone to bed and read a book.
It's always a bad idea to go out drinking on a Sunday night, no matter what. You'd think by now I would have learnt my lesson.
Meanwhile, a little later...
Check this out! Batman goes to our gym.