I have a note attached

I have a note attached to my monitor at home, it reads:

Repeat after me, “I will not touch this fucking computer until I’ve done my fucking washing”

I wonder if it’ll work.

… At work at the moment. Feeling pretty well considering that Lydia and I went out to the Wickham at 12 last night to take Phil’s apartment keys back to him. We grabbed some drinks and promptly got picked up by a woman who decided that what we needed most in the world was Cosmopolitans. I’ve been to the Wick so many times, but never up to the DepartureLounge (cocktail bar), so we dropped $30 and adjourned to the balcony with our cocktails.

The woman’s name turned out to be Nat, and she was kitted out in great jeans and a funky mambo tank top with patches. I originally thought she was trying to pick up Lydia, but it turned out that her husband was around, so I quickly stopped thinking that she was a lesbian. Nat is a hairdresser who works at Park Rd when she’s not looking after her 2 year old child.

After ditching Nat and the little coterie that formed around her while we were talking we went for a groove which lasted about 2 songs until the Cosmopolitan really hit Lydia, and we left. By the time we got home she was slurring, giggling, and talking with a lisp.
Crashed.

I’m feeling surprisingly well considering the smallish amount of sleep I’ve had, and now it’s time for KFC.

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