Were it not for the sharp press and lack of rents in my clothes you could mistake me for the undead today. The shambling, the empty eye sockets, the gutteral moans. All of it. I had a major night of tossing and turning in the early stages of last night, then was woken at 2.30am and again at 3am, to the point where I had to say "screw this" and get up out of bed.
On the upside, the tennis was on and I got to gaze lovingly at a certain compact Belgian with a great set of legs, of which I am enamoured. Dish!
I finally felt tired enough to go back to bed around 4.30am, but my night of sleep was pretty much ruined. When the alarm went off at 6.30 this morning, and the rain was belting down outside, it was only really the lure of much needed filthy lucre and the fact that I had to open up the office on my own this morning that sent me in.
Plus it takes longer to walk to the train when you're shambling with arms outstretched, moaning something about the need to eat brains.