Still not dead - but definitely closer

Sometimes I lie. Most of the time I don't plan it in advance. They just slip out, like newborn calves, all shiny and wet. Last night I was on a date, and for some reason I told the guy that I don't get hangovers. I have no idea why I would suggest such an absurd thing; it is about as rooted in the truth as Scientology and the idea that the fashion world's labelling of beige as 'nude' isn't inherently a bit racist. I think I wanted to emphasise my youthful resilience to such a curmudgeonly problem. Weird lie to tell though, and I think today's aftermath has been markedly worse as a result. The Lie Detector karmic fairy saw me coming and made sure I suffered. I have debilitating cramp in my frontal lobe and my amygdala is weeping softly. It has not been a good day for my (let's face it, never particularly impressive) productivity levels. Yesterday's nine hour date began at a pub in Mile End and ended with a brief kiss at Old Street tube station, the brevity due not to either of us wanting to cut things short, but to the fact that I was slightly inebriated, up on tiptoes with my eyes shut and lost my balance, veering off to the right and very nearly staggering barefoot into a tramp. Not my finest hour.

On Friday I had birthday massages and fun with Em, who is now 33. For dinner we went to Fakharldine or something spelled a bit like that - it's a swanky Lebanese place on Piccadilly and it was delicious but overpriced. On Saturday I went out to Colchester where my tour guide, Oliver, showed me around his neck of the woods. We went to Frinton and paddled in the sea, before we got annoyed by all the ball games so stropped off to Walton on the Naze where he found me a shark's tooth that is between 40 and 60 million years old. It's now wrapped in a New Look receipt in my wallet. Not really sure what to do with it but it's freaking cool. On Saturday night I went to see The Prophet in Bermondsey. Like Audiard's A Bout de Souffle, this was hard going. I watched about 40% of it with my hands over my eyes and was tempted to walk out at one point as it was all so stressful and razor blades and not what I felt like after my day by the seaside. But I'm glad I stayed - an amazingly dark portrait of youth and guts. Impressive how he manages to make one root for such unsavoury characters. On Sunday Kate and I did the next segment of our Capital Ring walk - Crystal Palace to Streatham and slightly too hilly for my liking. Then I went home, had a bath, went on the tube, got impossibly painful blisters from my shoes the INSTANT I reached Mile End, and shortly afterwards began my steady descent into my definitely-very-present hungover state today. I am dying. Perhaps a Kit Kat will help.