Hell of a Weekend

Somehow I have to drag myself into work today despite the thumping pain of over-indulgence vibrating around my every atom.
I still feel pissed from Saturday, so God knows when the alcohol I drank on Sunday will eventually leave my system. Sometime around March 7th I imagine. 
God we had a great time. You only turn 30 once, right? So why not enjoy it instead of fretting about it or mourning the loss of your 20s? And man did we enjoy it. It was like we were making up for all the birthdays that we spent apart while Sophie was in Edinburgh, and all the birthdays Philippa and I didn’t spend together before we met, and the Christmas we just missed out on, and every other possible reason to celebrate that we may not have taken advantage of in the past few years. EVERYBODY went for it. And I mean WENT FOR IT. Just thinking about it now is making my head spin and my internal organs throb with the memory of the abuse they suffered in the past 72 hours or so. Never before, I would guess, have a group of siblings and their respective partners burnt both ends of a collective candle so bright, long and hard as the Famille de Chesworth did from Saturday evening to Monday morning inclusive. 
I may be 30, but my liver feels like it’s 97.

RC 28-1-14