Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m having a FANTASTIC Friday 13th.
I woke up feeling so bright eyed and bushy tailed that I was able to spend a useful twenty minutes in front of the mirror using dry shampoo to simulate what my hair might look like in five years’ time.
Then a man at the traffic lights said my ‘old-school’ Brompton was cool, and it (i.e., me) was a ‘great look’. And I’m pretty sure he wasn’t even being ironic!
I got into work five minutes early to find that the conference call I’d arranged for my boss with a new lead had gone very well and he expected to get business from it.
Then Joe made me a cup of tea in the red cup which is the BEST of all cup / colour combinations.
Why am I so happy?
Well, last night Tom and I went to The Booking Office in St Pancras Station where, despite my self-imposed no-drinking-on-weekdays rule, I drank three delicious alcoholic cocktails for which I paid a sum in excess of £30 and regretted it not one jot.
Tom and I parted ways at nine thirty. I serenaded some passersby on my way home with my rendition of Bobby McFerrin’s Thinkin’ About Your Body, and Tom got on a train to Brighton*.
This morning I felt FANTASTIC.
Which leads me to the inevitable conclusion: I need to drink three cocktails per night just to OPERATE NORMALLY.
* Tom lives in East Dulwich.