The period between Xmas and the New Year is an odd place, isn't it? It's the one time of the year when shopping for crockery is genuinely gripping.
It's also easy to write off an entire day by thinking "ooh, you know, I'll have a little glass of wine with lunch". Which turns into a bottle, the St Trinian's movie, and then a weird wandering around the flat at 9pm muttering "but, I've done no work, and I don't want to watch any more TV, so I'll just go back to bed, but I'm not really tired and why have all the painkillers turned into anti-histamines and laxatives?"
So, a fitful night of sleep, when, due to the magic of text, I realised that I'd missed going drinkering with a fun ex, and another friend was having a drunken row with someone that I was accidentally on the receiving end of.
The cat was puzzled. I've replaced the thick sheet I normally sleep under with a duvet, as she's spent the last few nights remorselessly attacking the duvet mice which are my feet. As I'm now a deep sleeper, this guarantees me weird dreams about razor blades, and mornings spent hobbling on bloodied stumps to the germolene.
So, duvet. Which puzzled the cat. But it took her about ten minutes to burrow underneath it and carry on attacking my feet.
Not the best night's sleep. At 5am I found myself in the courtyard watching the cat take an al fresco crap. I'm going to try and have a more exciting day today.