Now, where was I? Seriously....

Electra, my housemate, hadn't seen me in two days when I crashed through the front door and collapsed tantalisingly close to my bed. This wasn't exactly unusual, so you'll understand why blogging's been a little slow lately.

I hadn't been home for two days because I'd been at work overnight, and I was drunk because Smooth B's been made redundant with just two weeks to go until his wedding. Under instructions from the future Mrs B to ensure he returned home safely I took a bullet for my friend. Several liquorice flavour bullets, to be precise. But I achieved the aims of my role, as we social workers put it. This was to listen to the pretty depressing story of his redundancy, agree that his company are, indeed, bastards, and of course make him laugh and remind him life doesn't suck. Knocking myself unconscious with strong drink wasn't exactly part of the plan, but it certainly counted towards the latter aims.

Yesterday wasn't the greatest day ever, and so maybe it's a relief that I can't remember a portion of it. And maybe it's a relief that I can't quite remember the electronic trail my debit card left around the pubs and clubs of west London.

I would say I'm never drinking again, but it's Smooth B's stag night on Saturday. My liver is never going to forgive me for this....