I achieved my ambition to throw up early in 2013. I then passed out, and woke up at 5am this morning in the arms of a rather foul-smelling mechanic called Nigel. Don’t ask me how I ended up in his house and cuddling up with him on his sofa, but I didn’t hang around to wake him up and ask questions…
Philippa says she plays badminton with his wife. He’s a lovely bloke, apparently, and he just tends to hit the brandy a bit hard around Christmastime.
I don’t see how I can ever risk seeing him again so I told Philippa I might boycott the sports club for a while. She said “No point in that - we took loads of photos of you. I imagine they’re already on facebook.”
I hate the internet….
RC 1-1-13!
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