On the surface of it I'm a fairly sensible person. Barely a sixteenth of an inch (Imperial if you will) under the surface I become really bloody stupid. Example: I know that drinking even moderate amounts brings on migraines. And yet I sit here, halfway down the only glass of wine in the apartment plotting a walk to the Night Shop. On Monday (following Sunday's Pinot Grigio discovery) and Tuesday (following PUB QUIZ, which is always typed in upper case) I have woken up feeling really quite shit. To waste my expensive medication ameliorating a self-induced crapness seems very stupid indeed. And yet the Night Shop calls me.
It's not been a bad day. At my morning job she leaves me lovely food to eat and today it was a rather tender and magical cottage pie; most welcome after two hours hoofing. So what is making me want to go down the Night Shop?
I hesitate to give too much identifying detail, but suffice to say one of my charges who should be using a toilet will not. And I get to deal with the consequences of that. Foul and horrible and nauseating. I feel a rash of job applications coming on. Or a lot of wine.