Lunchtime
It's lunchtime in the officegiven that I have nothing better to do, I could get on with my work, but messages to the contrary seem to be plastered all over the inner workings of my mind. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure where the morning wentone moment I was walking to work, and wondering if my ankle was going to start hurting (long story), and the next thing I knew, my stomach began shouting something at me about eating anything within grabbing distance. Luckily that happened to be some hastily made sandwiches from this morning, and a banana that had made everything else in my bag taste how banana smells (if that makes any sense at all).
So. It's Tuesday. For the first time in months, this week looks like I'll have half a chance to reflect on what I'm doingnot just rush from one thing to the next in blind panic. In fairness, I've become quite good at panicking blindly. I should probably have a badge, or a certificate or something.
In the great tradition of writing about everything I have been up to recently, I should probably recount yesterday. We were invited to some good friends for a barbecue. I drank rather a lot of wine, AND GOT AWAY WITH IT. From the moment we arrived at lunchtime I was being fed “Prosecco” by a friend, and she (or her teenage daughter) kept appearing whenever my glass got low. In the end I had to stop, because I knew I was on that curious precipice, where any more will mean headaches, and ridiculous adventures that others recount stories about. Just to make sure I got away with it, I drank three cups of coffee in a row last nightkind of a Heath Robinson inspired hangover insurance policy.
Quite how I walked the three miles to work this morning on the sprained ankle are anybody's guess. It's swolen up quite spectacularly, but it doesn't actually hurt. It didn't hurt yesterday afternoon eitherbut that had more to do with a couple of bottles of wine than any kind of healing process.