Appalling Gut Horror, caused, I suspect, by a dodgy prawn in my cha han at Wagamama on Thursday night. No sleep on Thursday night at all, as a result of said intestinal nightmares. Failed to go to work on Friday. Wound up at Mum and Dad’s on Friday night, where even Mum admited I looked bad. This means I must have looked like I could have died at any moment. I went round there because, come hell or high water, I had to get money changed and measured for a suit, in order to go on holiday, and it was easier to start off from their place.
Mercifully, by Saturday morning, the worst was over, so, slightly over half a stone lighter than I had been (and I do not recommend this as a diet technique) errands were run with only mild exhaustion and queasiness to deal with.
Then it was time to get a tattoo. When things began to Go Wrong on Thursday night, my first thought was “Oh, fuck. I can’t get my deposit back now.” (48 hours notice required for cancellation). But, thank god, I made it. It was painful, but by no means even close to unbearable. Photos when it’s healed a bit, and the current reds and browns have faded to the greys they’re supposed to be. The I met up with Hugh, (who was in town en-route to San Francisco and needed a place to sleep for the night) and James, and since I’ve eaten almost nothing since Thursday night, was talked into another trip to Wagamama.
As Hugh remarked: there’s a weird jet-set tone to your life, when you find yourself sitting with a friend from Edinburgh, in a trendy(-ish) London noodle bar, arranging to meet up in a week’s time in San Francisco.