I open the curtains and I can’t see anything. It takes a few seconds to realise that outside is full of grey, misty, December fog. The clouds are in my road.
They are also in my head, with the remains of ten dark rum and cokes. I recoil back into bed.
Just what sort of company has the Works Christmas Do on a Thursday night, in a Cuban bar? We don’t have to go in until ten o’clock today, but even that is too early. I actually feel like I’m dying. I curl up in bed and fall asleep again.
(Fiction, and …. to be continued?….)