Ooh, off to France tomorrow. I've had a long and demanding day chez office too, which helps, as I'm now frothing at the gash for the off. Even the flight, normally a tiresome process, is filled with appeal. Whilst queueing up at Gatwick with the great unwashed tomorrow morning, I won't be at work for a start. I'm actively looking forward to security, the inevitable Pret pain au raisin (candy floss for graduates) and spending £30 on magazines for a 90 minute flight.
In other news, I'm on the wagon at the moment. I always enjoy doing this, but only when I'm doing this. It's odd, but I find that not drinking during the week increases my energy levels during the evening. It also makes every night different. I keep thinking to myself "what shall I do this evening?" And, yet, despite this knowledge, I always fall off the weekday wagon. And then it's a wrench to climb back aboard. No matter, I'm enjoying it thus far.
What to do this evening? I could carve a new nut for my guitar, dismantle the dishwasher or even get in the loft and replace the extractor fan. Or I could just stare off into the middle distance, like last night.
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