The morning after.

Had a lovely fancy birthday tea.
Feeling a bit grim.
Get thee behind me espresso martinis.

Had the best cabbie taking us to the restaurant.
He insisted on singing to me. Barry Manilow's 'Mandy' (the live version, apparently) And I mean sing. He certainly didn't hold back. Every note molested and touched up like a teenage girl from the 70s hanging around the light entertainment industry. There were notes in there not known to the human ear. Dogs were throwing themselves under the taxi. Of course we knew when to clap. When a man holds a note so long he starts to cough up furballs, and his left eye actually explodes all over the windscreen, you naturally applaud like there is no tomorrow.

Except there is. And your head really hurts.