I’ve just got home.
I feel cold and dirty.
I spent the weekend in Brighton with my girlfriend and her friends. It was John’s birthday so we went to an eighties night at a club. I have an awful hangover today. We were out until about four, got kicked out the hotel before twelve and spent the afternoon feeling sorry for ourselves at John’s flat.
Last night was fun. We drunk a bottle of Sailor Jerry’s before we left the house and tried to play Roxanne but there were no speakers for the laptop to play the song loud enough.
I can’t remember the name of the club. That’s how wasted I was. We danced about to Bowie, Eurythmics and Michael Jackson and Kate took a lot of photos.
It was a nice reminder of how I once spent my weekends as a student, and indeed how I spent my weeks. It’s a phase in my life I enjoyed thoroughly but have concluded I am well and truly beyond. I don’t like the way things sit on my rain when I am hungover. It isn’t right. I can’t concentrate.
I miss the free time of being a student, the mystery that came into being each morning.
I don’t miss the poor diet, lack of
sleep and negative bank balance.
I don’t have a lot now but it’s my own.