Morning time. Pangs of guilt and a waft of sick. I’m on my sofa. It’s 9.30am on a work day morning. My brain painfully begins to whirr at the immediate repurcussions of this information. I’ve got a phone call to make. Before that though, lets get to grips with the guilt and the sick. The latter appears to be all around the base of the sofa and also peppers the white throw that was inspirationally placed just a few weeks ago. Every cloud. Right, the sick is checked and the cleaning solution straightforward on the wooden floor.
Now – the guilt. It’s not work. It will have something to do with a woman, but that’s not the main event. A friend is over from blighty and, him having arrived yesterday, we completed the obligatory heavy night out at the earliest possible window of opportunity. Lager, wine and whiskey all played an essential role in our total and utter ascent into oblivion. Until 1am memory implies that we had a pretty splendid night out, with just the suggestion of a few trampled toes along the way. Past that point though, it’s a mystery. What was the last place ? did we pay our bill ? did I see my mate home, or even try and point him in the right direction ? Ah – there’s the source of the guilt. I can’t remember doing so and my instinct tells me that means no.
An hour passes. The sick is mopped. The woman’s scorn is manifesting nicely. The phone call has been carried out with aplomb. Time to find out about my foreign-street-wandering visitor…..One phone call later and the worst is realised – he got mugged on the way back to his hotel last night. Fuck. Kept hold of his wallet though and elbowed some thoroughly deserving bastard in the face to boot. The jacket, sunglasses and hotel key will be refunded by a wise man’s travel insurance. The guilt didn’t cost a penny, but I wish it would leave me alone and stop making me swear out loud on my own. Oh well, as any woman would only be too quick to tell me – I’ve only got myslef to blame. Will that ensure my good behaviour from now until the end though ? The odds are not good.
I’m not fond of the guilt. In fact, I think I’d say I’d had enough of it entirely. Here’s to immoral, unthinking behaviour and to no recriminations either.
The smell of sick on the other hand is ok. I buy special spew fragrance packs and plug them in to those widgets tapped into the mains that waft them around the room.
Just as an addendum wanted to note that the rush of posts in recent days has pushed us back on to the early pages of google, lord of the tinternet.