I feel unwell. Carlingford was good craic, plenty of booze taken of a Friday night and no recollection of how Kenny ended up in the bed beside me. I checked around for the loss of my same sex virginity, and thankfully all remained intact.
Not that Kenny wouldn't make a fine sire, it's just that the gods of heterosexuality have chosen me as a disciple, and I'm not about to swing the other way. He'd say the same thing.
After morning beers I hit the road with Eric around 1.30 yesterday, and made it back to Charleville Road for 3. It wasn't until 5pm or so that I realised I was still locked, so one Domino's pizza later I took myself to bed, from which I have just risen.
I'm staring down the barrel of a 3-11 shift in Setanta now, happy I didn't embrace folly and stay with the lads that extra night. I'd be monumentally fucked as opposed to just a little peaky, a bit out of sorts. I think I just need a cup of tea.