“I never drink anything other than alcohol after 6pm.”

Wise words from my beloved K, who memorably reduced an entire posh country house dining room to an awed hush, merely by declaiming them, with some measure of force, when offered a post-prandial coffee by the well-meaning waitress.

Would that I had heeded them last night, at the blogpals’ get-together at the Secret Mystery Location. But, no. Fearful of peaking too soon (for the wine had been flowing from earlier than I am used to, bearing in mind the louche bohemian hours that I am wont to keep), I thought that a tall mug of fresh-from-the-cafetière would Perk Me Up and help me Stay Focused.

Which is probably why I woke at 4am this morning, and stayed restlessly semi-conscious for the next three hours, until knocked up by my Secret Mystery Hostess for a lift to the railway station.

(Two small pieces of information that I might safely divulge: Secret Mystery Hostess keeps a superlative cheese board, and she makes a mean chocolate tart. Honest, I thought it was from Marks and Sparks!)

Zee to the oh to the onked, that’s what I’m feeling right now. I might not even be able to make it all the way through Big Brother tonight, let alone the totally ace, are-you-watching-it-yet, oh-you-should-you-should, Studio 60 On Sunset Strip (which does require a good deal more concentration than “does Amanda fancy Brian back”, or “they’re all being mean to Amy, especially that Carole, ooh you wanna watch her, she’s taking over”).

So, let mine be a cautionary tale.

Hey, at least my reasons for crappy half-hearted posts are varied ones…

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