ouch...

The morning after.

Off screen: a drinks cabinet, half emptied, a kitchen stacked with dirty cocktail glasses, regular glasses, and even mugs, CDs scattered on the floor, vinyl stacked up against the shelves, builders in the apartment above making way too much noise at 8:30am...

After passing out at 5am after many many cocktails at L&J's pad in Hackney, I wake too early, move slightly, groan loudly, remember the shots of rose schnapps and rose vodka that seemed like a good idea, the joint that was passed round as we looked at teenage photos from the early '90s...

Realising I have plans I have to keep, I manage to stand upright and somehow make my way to Liverpool Street Station. My phone battery is dead, I have to use a call box. It's like going back in time. Not only do I have no idea how to use the fancy-pants machine, but the minimum fare is 40p. Bastards. I sit on the Hammersmith & City line, wishing for death, crawl off the tube and meet my sister, drag myself into the car with a groan, cancel our plans, make her take me home and spend the rest of the day in bed...