This entry is brought to you by the word merrrgh.

Merrrgh. I am hungover today. The world is an unfamiliar and bizarre place in which, as a general rule, people do not tuck me into bed enough.

On the bus this morning I'm pretty sure I sat on someone's lap by accident in a minor lapse of concentration. I also may or may not have made some rather ill-advised fashion choices. I should have known that today is clearly NOT the day for the floor length shot silk burgundy taffeta number I threw on after stumbling out of the shower in the manner of a tramp, but the alcohol was still lapping at my eyelids and I was finding it hard to see. Ahem.

What did I do to deserve such a hangover? Well. I went to Camden to see a band called Until She Says Sorry (which, interestingly enough, is the message my hangover is trying to get across. Ok, ok! Liver? I'm sorry. Better?). They were fantastic as usual and there was jumping and singing and a cover of that Team America song where people say 'fuck yeah' an awful lot. And we all sat there with our pints of beer being all sloshy over our wrists and watched them jump and shout and sing and had a jolly good time. Fuck yeah.

But, Oh Woe Is Me I am paying for it now. Why the beer? Why? It makes me all drunk and then I think I'm funny and clever and say things like 'yes I can map read and can get us from Camden to Shoreditch in a mere flash because I did A-level Geography- hand me that A-Z' and then promptly prove myself to be spectaularly wrong about that. And then it makes me wake up (and, obviously I use that phrase in the loosest possible manner) and feel like my head has been run over by an average to large sized tank and Celine Dion is wailing My Heart Will Go On into my right ear and won't shut up. And that, my friends, is some serious pain.

Also. £3.40 a pint? That's like, a million dollars (ish) a pint. And I had lots of pints. I'm not liking them there maths.

BUT. But but but it was all worth it because a) I wasn't the drunkest there and b) the band was grrreat and fun and c) I'm not telling you because it's a secret but if you come up and stand very close I'll whisper it in your ear and then blow in it really hard because that's the sort of person I am.

You noticed how I'm not mentioning my crush today? Well. I'm not because SOMETIMES PEOPLE UNEXPECTEDLY READ MY BLOG AND I DON'T KNOW IT.
Like, I got an email from my ex's new girlfriend. She reads it. And is probably feeling a little strange that I have written about her on the Internet when I haven't replied to her email but hey, there is no logic to my actions and I don't believe I ever pretended there was. Don't worry, I won't mention your name or post your email on the site, because that would be strange, and I am not yet that strange.

Anyway, my point is that if he reads this he'll know it's him I'm talking about, and my cool will be blown, and I don't want to compound that further.
(I know what you're thinking. You're all thinking Léonie? Seriously? ANY COOL LEFT ANYWAY?)

But I can't think about it, or anything else today as Celine is back in my ear and is warming up for a hearty rendition of Think Twice.

Merrrgh.