Virtually Free Bar

I am not accustomed to having drinks bought for me. This is something new. Why it has come about, I am not entirely certain. I have a number of surmises:

1. It has to do with going out with Scottish Housemate, who, let's face it, is a good looking girl.
2. My recently acquired Single status.
3. My recently achieved GI Jane status. (In case you haven't, check my footer).
4. My irresistible charm. No? OK, I'll pick #1 as the most likely candidate.

Last night saw another tres fun evening in Camden, which although lasted from 3pm to 4am, didn't bankrupt me, despite a continuous flow of alcohol, entry into a night club and a cab ride home. Should I be having this much fun at my age?

Of course Sunday was a virtual write off, particularly when I discovered that the time had changed and I lost yet another hour lying in bed willing my water bottle to miraculously fill itself and empty its delicious contents into my sandpaper and cotton wool mouth so that I could stop speaking in Khoisan Bushman dialect. Sadly, eventually, and with a little help from Amy Winehouse, I extricated myself from duvet-entanglement and did it myself. One thing led to another which led to having to clothe myself and trundle down the road for a 4pm breakfast fry-up with the guilty party (see #1). I love lazy Sundays.