Reader, I'm hungover. Ugh. Rum's being added to my list of drinks I'm never imbibing again. Had a total transport crisis on the way home from Jamie's housewarming party last night. Was quite a merry party, actually, totally overpopulated by people from our College, most of whom I hadn't seen since graduation. Nevertheless, spent much of the time talking to Andy the Dentist, Jamie's friend from school. Was instructed to examine the cut on his chin, received reparing the damage done in some kind of accident. Usually consider him quite boring, but he improves with alcohol. May have kissed him on the cheek when I left. Can't remember.
Anyway, the transport crisis. Half the tube was up the spout, as per, so attempted to walk to the nearest station that was actually open. Got horrendously lost, ended up at another station which wasn't open and then somehow boarded a bus that happened to stop at Baker Street. Decided the Bakerloo was at least heading in the right direction. Had a very odd conversation with an Irishman, who insisted on shaking my hand three times and saying slainte a lot. Suspect this frightened the man slumped next to me. Having reached the end of the line, first got lost coming out of the station (don't ask), then realised there were no taxis and my mobile had run out of credit. Resorted to what anyone would do in such circumstances and panicked. Was rescued by my beloved mother and taken back to the parental domain. Have only just got home (another taxi driver: two children out of school, one still in) and still feel icky.
Worse: STILL no messages from Lyull, despite answerphone. Bounder.
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