Sobering up

Well, I have sobered up. The Boxwood Cafe is really really good, not that I ever like plugging things much. We had a really good meal, went out for drinks in our dresses and stayed up, 8 of us, drinking rum and gossiping til 4am on Saturday morning, when the sun came up and scared us all into bed.

Saturday I wandered round Oxford Street and nursed my hangover. I remembered why I didn't like going to Oxford Street, especially on a Saturday, since it took me about an hour to make it about 400yards down the road. People are bonkers. I never seem to get road-rage in a car, and I only get bike-rage if someone came really really close to killing me. But somehow, I am very prone to pedestrian-rage. There is something in me that snaps when the umpteenth group of selfish dopes decide to stop in the narrowest part of a crowded street, spread out and have a think about what to do next. They seem to pick areas like beside a bus-stop, or by the traffic lights. If you try to squeeze through the middle, all 'excuse me' and 'pardon' they look insulted that you interrupted the conversation. Well, dearest tourists and assembled self-absorbed idiots. you interrupted my wander! How dare you look at me like I'm in the way when you're the one blocking one of the world's busiest footpaths!

Anyway, rant over. I abandoned Oxford Street and went home to get ready for our finalists ball. The tickets cost a fortune, so I was a bit skeptical about the the whole thing, feeling like it might be a bit of a rip-off. Then I got there to find it was far more exciting than I had expected! The venue was beautiful and it turns out the medics scrub up pretty well when you take the grey mask of revision away and put them in full finery. I was pleasantly surprised by the whole event. Even the food was pretty good. Still, another 4am bedtime nearly killed me. I'm not that old to need a respectable bedtime, but I think I'm out of practice. I spent yesterday and this morning recovering at home with the kitten, who helpfully bit me a few times and then curled up exhausted on my knee. It really does seem tiring to be a kitten, all that running about to do, sofas to claw, curtains to climb and people to shout at. I'm feeling pretty tired just watching him. Or maybe that is the cumulative effect of finals. I am certainly enjoying the recovery period, but I wonder if I am alone in finding it hard to shake a lingering guilt at doing nothing? It's been so long since I last slugged about on a sofa with a novel and a cup of tea that I feel like I should be busy working on something. I hope I will get better at lazing about with practice, so I shall be taking my cup of tea back to the cat, the sofa and the tv!