He's a very naughty boy

I know it's self-inflicted, and I know at my age (39 plus postage and packing) that I really should know better but, apparently I don't.

Yesterday (as in Wednesday) I had the worst hangover I have ever, ever, EVER had. My eyeballs hurt. I didn't even feel well enough to feel sick. It was awful. It took me until about 11.30 P-bloody-M to feel able to talk.

I was invited out for a very nice evening. Meeting at A and M's 'office' for a glass of wine, and then for a lovely dinner with lovely people. Very civilised, very pleasant, very grown up.

That all went pretty well. Then we went to a bar for a nice bottle of wine or two. So far, so good.

And then................................

some nutter suggested Mojos. A cocktail bar. BIG BIG BIG mistake.

After a few there...................

some nutter suggested Oporto. Another cocktail bar. For fucks sake!

Now I only know this sequence of events cos I had to ask Mel, who could remember, for some bizarre reason (but then she's a lot younger than me) but the one thing I can remember is that the taxi driver for some reason (pity? sympathy? desperation to get rid of me?) didn't want paying - and it's normally £20-25. I insisted and he took £15. How sweet is that! I reckon it was the marital advice I insisted on giving him for the full 15 miles home.

I was telling Debbie all about my shame at getting into that state and she asked when was the last time I had been in so bad.

Hmmm, spookily enough, last time I went to Mojos with A. Leading me astray, making me drink those nasty cocktails.

He's a very naughty boy.