My headsong is alternating between Take That's 'A Million Love Songs' and Phil Collins' 'Sussudio.'
I'm pleased with neither of these, knowing that I must have heard them drunk on a beery Bank Holiday Monday yet I'm not able to place the where.
They don't have music in Kehoes and, by the time Round Two came along in the Ferryman, the lights shone a little too brightly and I was just sitting there pretending not to be steamed.
I was. Muchly.
Gary Barlow and Buster have terrible things to answer for as I sit here at a remove of two days, at a capacity of little more 63%, silently willing the songs to stop their looping whirr.
Why didn't I eat? A bowl of Crunchy Nut Corn Flakes does not an iron constitution build and I spent Tuesday cursing the folly of ten beers and no sustenance.
"I'll be grand."
I wasn't grand. I won't make the mistake again.