We're around Adam's lounge table and I have had some glasses of red wine. I don't mind this because I've set aside a few hours from the gym.
I say to Adam that I think it's time for me to go home because talk amongst the rest of group has turned to Vauxhell. One guy who's name I don't remember (sorry) says it's a pity I'm going home.
This is the first thing he has said to me directly all evening.
I think to myself "I wish you'd made the effort to engage me before now - but it's not my loss buddy..."
Their cabs arrive but I decide to walk home. It's only a 20-minute stroll.
It's me, the nightbuses and the Freemasons' After Hours Remix of "Rain Down Love", a song with one of the laziest bass-lines you've ever heard.
Lying in bed and can't sleep and the sun is coming up.
I might as well text even though I know I shouldn't.
"I said I wouldn't go out but I did. Just got in so that means you win the bet!"
What I mean to say is "I'm missing you so very much right now."
Ping! ping! Bloody beep beep ping, ping!
"Hello Bobby, it's your mother. Why are you asleep at this hour? Just to let you know that your father's completed his 10th Two Oceans Marathon so please make sure you phone and congratulate him."
Ping! ping! Ring! Fucken beep beep.
"Bob. Are you going to the Gay Supermarket tonight? Call me."
Does nobody ever fucking sleep-in, for fucks' sake.
Ping! Ring! Beep. Fuck!
"Bob, where are you? Are you joining us at XXL tonight?"
The idea that anyone on a Saturday morning would lie in obviously has escaped everyone. Admit defeat, plug the fucking switchboard in and wait for the next goddam phone-call that would have woken me up.
It's after 6pm, I'm tired and exhausted. I put on Airplane! for a laugh.
Depressed, upset, emotional, neurotic and pathetic. Low is the opposite of high. Besides, since my text at 5am, I've heard nothing.
Talk amongst yourself, I'm going to bed.