The only blessing about waking up with a face for radio is if it's your own.
I wasn't feeling too clever after the Strictly Dance Fever wrap party. Normally at BBC parties there is beer or nasty wine, which leaves spirits drinkers like me a little lost.
Not so at this one. No. There was tequila. Lots of it. There were bottles on most tables, and even a Graham Norton Ice Sculpted Tequila Fountain that you could sup liquour out of by rimming his elbow.
What the hell, I figured. Tequila and diet coke can't be worse for you than vodka and diet coke.
I spent some time noticing only two things - that everyone really liked Graham Norton, and that Graham had an astonishingly buff boyfriend.
Then there was some confusion with another buff man, who passed out on a bed next to me. Someone told me that he was Graham's other boyfriend, but that can't have been right, and by this point there was a rattling in my ears that failed to block out the disco, and I was aware that whatever I wanted to say came out as "wurble wurble shuzzle *giggle*". Which was wrong and unnecessary.
Somewhere, in the centre of my head, I was still sober, and just wanted to go home. Sadly, there isn't a simple switch on my mobile that will accomplish this. There should be. Instead you have to order a taxi verbally ("kigsshhhh crossssh") and then, after a wait of centuries, endure stilted conversation with a taxi driver who knows that You Are Drunk.
I lost Daniel at that point, but, by all accounts, he didn't miss me.