Note to self (and others)

Do not, under any circumstances, go to the gym after work and then let Laura persuade you that going to O'Neill's is a good idea. Going to O'Neill's, in my experience, is rarely a phenomenal idea as the visit almost always culminates in some degree of personal humiliation for participants, but the crucial lesson here is to make sure that one's visit to said drinkerie does not follow hot on the heels of physical exercise. After over an hour in the gym last night, we settled downstairs in the pub and had a large glass of Sauvignon and a bag of McCoy's. This was unarguably silly. What was sillier still was allowing a nice young man from the building to buy us both a second glass and no further McCoy's. This amount of alcohol would normally have made me fairly tipsy - but with the adrenaline pumping round my system post-workout, I was pretty much legless. The journey home involved more Puzzle Bobble and aural nostalgia, playing old compilations on the iPod. Once back at the ranch, I went on my computer, watched Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares, tried on and rejected my new skinny jeans, ate some German Christmas biscuits, moisturised and passed out. This morning I could barely remember anything and had to piece it together like a struggling amnesiac. Now it's not even 10am and I've already had to eat a Twix. Something tells me today will be difficult.