Age

Ah dear readers, I will commence apologises...again.

I find my Sunday routine of blog writing never established itself and thus soon sweet memories of whiling away the hours at my key board soon diminished. In additional to that I also seem to have gone back in time in terms of my behaviour. For the last few weeks very Saturday night I have been propelled back to student hood, drinking till the wee hours, talking rubbish and dancing badly.

Unfortunately, I am no longer 18, but a fair 25 (stop laughing) and instead of getting up on Sunday and phoning the friends I was out with that very night to talk about events of that very night, instead I wake in a haze of outride fug, sick to my stomach, my head pounding. I manage to drag myself from my bed only to get to the sofa where I lie immobile for several hours unable to even move my head slightly. If I do manage to turn on the tv I am unable to watch it as turning my head from the position it rested when I collapsed on the sofa causes exquisite pain and agony. Once I am finally able to move, a drink of water of is attempted soon followed by profuse vomiting. This routine is repeated until the early evening when finally I drag myself to the local minimarket grab myself some irn bru and a pizza. At some stage, Cat will return home from her sojourn in Aberdeen seeing her fancy man to find the hollow wreck of her flatmate curled up on the sofa. How she must love coming home to such a sight.

So that is my excuse. I am drunken hussy, but not even a young one even more. Sigh. I’m getting too old for this sh......