Fucking hell. There is absolutely nothing the matter with me yet I have been walking around listening to Adele's Someone Like You (my new emo song after Nicki Minaj's Moment 4 Life) on repeat, holding back the tears. The lyrics don't hold any special meaning for me and I have no reason to be sad, at all.
So what is the matter with me? Absolutely nothing. I'm just suffering from an extreme case of Hangover Paranoia. I feel like such a dick and I'm not sure why.
I went out on Sunday night with Anna and had to get the metro home at six am on Monday morning in my bare feet, because I was too drunk to put my high heels back on. They are really very beautiful shoes but they're so hard to get my feet into. And now they are dirty and ruined and I've worn them twice.
I only meant to go out for a couple of drinks, but this is what I always say. I don't know if 'pecking head' is a phrase exclusive to Manchester, but I am definitely pecking my own head. I am like the annoying friend who flakes out on you and gets ridiculously drunk every time you go out, except I'm not my friend, I'm just Me and I'm annoying the fuck out of myself. I came home on Monday morning minus my favourite (and only) black jacket, but somehow clutching a man's blue shirt, even though honestly I didn't do anything whoreish. I don't think.
We went out with a group of people Anna works with, including her manager. He said we could in VIP with him to see Bob Sinclar at Showcase, which is a huuuge, expensive club by the river, not far from where Family Thrift live, ironically.
It is the first place in Paris I have been where I have felt under-dressed: everyone there was very Dressed Up, in little dresses and bare legs and massive heels; a far cry from Le Long Hop (which, by the way, we were refused entry to on Saturday, because we didn't have any ID. The ages of our little group ranged from 21 to 30, so we got rather irate with the bouncer as we left I promised him I will return next weekend, with my passport, and I will slap him across the face with it.)
In the VIP area of Showcase we had free champagne, free whiskey, free vodka... I've been clouded with Hangover Paranoia for two days now. I am seriously not drinking alcohol again for a while. I was supposed to be meeting a friend for cheese and wine tonight and I've flaked out. I can't bring myself to talk to people, I'm going to stay in and watch something sad instead, maybe Romeo and Juliet or that episode of Futurama with the dog (it's called 'Jurrasic Bark', Series 5, Episode 2 if you've not seen it... don't bother, unless you like crying, which I do).
On the plus side, I Googled 'left bank manc' and I am the Seventh thing that comes up!! The Magic of Seven never fails me.