I have nothing further to say about the horror that was yesterday, beyond the simple fact that when I posted the line 'Feel better. Blog about it', there were still a considerable number of hours left in the day.
Over ten of them, in fact.
And I was conscious for all of them.
Everyone in our office is talking about the lottery today.
I will say nothing.
I will merely look the universe full in the face, look pointedly at yesterday, and turn back to the universe and let it do whatever it feels is right by it's conscience.
And after guilt-tripping Creation, for my next trick I will disappear...
...until the money runs out a year later, when I will reappear somewhere on the outskirts of Acapulco, bedraggled, hungover and a little tired, but feeling much, much better.
In Other News
A hamster has appeared in my house. His name is Ginger. His cage is covered with beach mats and a tie-dye throw, and he is hogging the space usually taken up by the ironing board. His cage is that big. I moved the ironing board around my desk and into my room this morning to do my shirt for work, and swung the leg assembly down in a malco-ordinated looping arc, and with a sharp resounding tap, the air was suddenly filled with rapidly expanding fragments of my Glenmorangie glass.
I blame Ginger.
The bastard.
I would like to point out that I was not drinking Glenmorangie whilst ironing my shirt for work this morning. A kind (yet pedantic) person has just pointed this out by email.
It was the meerkats.
Yes, as everyone knows you don't drink that in the morning. You drink Laphroaig.
Precisely.