Brief entry. Am shattered.
I had a good time at Martin’s wedding – haven’t seen him for over two years and he looks exactly the same. Don’t think that family ‘does’ aging. I drank Remy Martin, smoked a cuban cigar, threw up in the disabled toilet, listened to some truly truly disgusting stories from the groom and found I had to pay for my hotel room after all.
Then I phoned up work and pretended to have an abscess. Suckers.
The train journey from Brockenhurst to Brighton is so far beyond ridiculous it isn’t funny. Three changes, then everyone was ordered off the train at Worthing then straight back on again.
I will pad this out later. First, I sleep.
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