pretending there's glamour in candelabra / when you're drinking by candlelight

(Ok there was totally a post here and now it has gone. I will just write a new one.)

Keeping company with my housemate last night while she waited for her fly-by-night fancyman, we entertained each other with our rapier wits (her rapier wit, my confused slurring), our shared ability to swallow the best part of our respective bottles of spirits, our mutual terror of scary things and previously unshared details of our convoluted lives.

I once again proved that, while Tanqueray and I are not exctly enemies, there is a dangerous, malicious edge to our friendship.

So for the second morning in a row I woke up and rather wished I hadn't.

Hangovers are science's way of telling psychologists that cognitive behavioural therapy doesn't work.