It's now 9.50am on Wednesday. I just woke up. I got home and went to bed at 9am Tuesday. Dear Lord our God, if wine be the blood of Christ your son, then he needs a fucking transfusion. It's Holy alright, holy fucking shit!!
Thanks to a few sociable glasses of Rosè, I've lost a day and a half of my life. Who knows what I might have achieved in that time? The last thing I remember is busting out of the cash-game with 6 high and a little bit of poo coming out from laughing as Jimbo announced a near stampede had occurred when Kathryn had gone off to lick her wound.
I haven't had a hang-over this brutal since Vegas when I was in such poor shape I looked in the mirror and could see through me. I'm afraid I have no idea who won the tournament on Monday, or who was in it so I can't update the league table.
If anyone has seen my telephone and a grey hiking sock please let me know. I'm officially on the wagon now for at least six months. My the Lord have mercy on my soul.
Amen.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment