It’s half past midnight and right now, I should be either in a hotel bar with an outer London postcode with a convivial group of gents and floozies, or, if the festivities had proved too much already, crawling into bed with Amanda (who is one of the few people to ever share a bed with me and not wake up in the morning groaning “Oh my GOD! You snore SO LOUD! I wanted to smother you with a pillow!”).
I say ‘should be’ because, as you have probably gathered, being of sound intellect and reasoning as I know all my readers are – I’m not. Not in a hotel or in bed with A, that is. Circumstances prevailed to bugger up our plans completely and instead I am at my lonely keyboard in Bristol and she is at home being cosseted. I shan’t tell you what happened as it’s not my story to tell; but I will say that I offered a wee prayer up today to say thanks to whoever’s running the show for keeping my mate alive. Cheers God, Allah, Buddha or whoever. I appreciate your interference.
And so, having spent two days telling hopeful callers that I cannot assist them with any tricky erections until Monday, I now find myself back on the market for the weekend and hoping to get laid. Tally Ho!