Lost Looking For Sleep

I think I have yawned in excess of six thousand times today. My candle has burned out from both ends: no remnants of wick remain, just a small pool of hardened wax from the moment the flame extinguished itself several days ago. I am beyond exhausted, Faithful. But it is all entirely self-inflicted and I request no sympathy.

On Friday I went over to Tracey's in North London where we were joined by two others and had a small but vigorous reunion featuring singing into wine bottle microphones, dancing to Ms. Jackson by Outkast, wearing plastic silver tiaras and going to bed late. It was an absolutely brilliant evening. On Saturday afternoon, hungover for the second consecutive day, I crawled home, dumped my overnight bag, changed my clothes and went straight back out again, this time to watch the fireworks on the South Bank. I think I was, perhaps, spoiled by watching the 4th July celebrations in Seattle this year, because the London display seemed a bit of a damp squib. They were beautiful in places, and the reflection of the lights on the Thames, with St Paul's in the background - well, it was all rather lovely. But there was no music, and they only seemed to last about ten minutes. Pah. We consoled ourselves in the BFI cafe for a while and then went for a delicious dinner at the Anchor & Hope on The Cut in Waterloo, which was very busy but very fun and highly recommended if you're not in a rush. Then two of our number left, and the remaining three of us pushed on with the wine before moving venues to another couple of bars. It was a really lovely evening. I made it home by about 1am, slept until about noon on Sunday, narrowly avoiding the nadir of my third hangover, then loafed at home in velour and seventh heaven until it was time to leave for the Albert Hall, where I watched a fantastic Royal Opera House production of Britten's War Requiem, which knocked my socks off. A great way to end Remembrance Sunday.

Since the weekend, I've been running on empty with choir after work on Monday, a friend's birthday party in Mayfair last night, a huge and stressful drama on the Northern Line this morning, a four mile run with Laura in the gorgeous crisp November sun this lunchtime and various need-to-know work dramas. I'm now so floppy that it's a miracle I can find the strength to press the keys to type. Formulating witty and erudite sentences for your amusement is thus out of the question, I'm afraid. Tonight is all about battery recharging and will involve Eve Lom, fake tan, eyebrow plucking, laundry with Lenor, clean sheets, a selection of very bad TV and a bag of prematurely-purchased Tesco's chocolate money. I am so excited I might drool.