What’s the point of getting all buff, if the act of getting the buffness renders you incapable of being hot at parties?
This is getting silly. For the second week running, I’ve got to 10 on a saturday evening and said “bugger it, I’m knackered, I’m going to bed”. So apologies to all I missed at Morgan’s party.
However, we did have a sophisticated little do at Wright Street. One of the flatties is back from Italy, so we had an Italian food evening. There was much tastiness and antipasto. It was good.
Then, after I’d gone to bed, it rather degenerated, until at half one, the flatties decided that I was too sad, and they were going to drag me out of bed and we were all going to dance around wearing not very much.
So, faced with the choice of a) dance with lots of really very hot women in a variety of undress, or b) go back to bed with earplugs, I chose (b). I think that this means that I am officially Old.
And now its 8 am, on a sunday morn, and I’m getting up to go to aikido. Clearly, there’s an important lesson here, and its one that I’m failing to learn.