Monday morning, but it isn’t.

When it is a bank holiday and we get an extra day off it takes me a day to realise that we don’t have to suffer the usual five working days that week but instead have to serve only four. It takes a day to get used to this fact and by that point it is Wednesday; the hump of the week and it’s all downhill from there. I typed “Monday morning” for the title of this before remembering that it isn’t. Ho-hum, on we go.

I think that having a good weekend makes the return to work all the more depressing. Last night I stayed awake until late. I couldn’t face going to bed because that meant getting up and coming to work. I wanted to stretch the weekend out as long as possible. Which means that I’m tired this morning and I slept in and was late meeting Jenny.

The weekend has been drunken. That is probably the best word to describe it. Saturday night, out on the piss. Sunday, out on the piss. Monday, recovering from being out on the piss. We drink so much, Jenny and I, but unlike ‘how things used to be’ we are always good. Always happy. Never fall out. And I love her for that. On Saturday we met up with her parents after our meal and spent some time with them. I am beginning to like them a lot and I think they like me too. Sunday we were out by about half two in the afternoon and met up with (eventually – when I could persuade him to come out because of the fight he had had with Heidi – again) Terry and Heidi. Fun and games ensued and for the first time in a long time we managed to go the whole night without those two falling out. Right up to and including me dancing in the 70’s bar and leaving which I don’t remember and going to the pizza shop and getting chips with cheese and garlic sauce and the girl putting too much sauce on and me getting it all over the counter and having to be literally poured into a taxi and ladled out at the other end and falling asleep on the sofa and. . .

I love getting drunk. Perhaps too much.


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