Weekends roll around and, these days, start in the same manner. Breakfast, coffee and whatever cooking show is on that day, Saturday Kitchen or Something for the Weekend.
Rarely do I awake at noon, hungover and with little thought for much else other than Irn Bru and a bacon roll. Even as I type this, Saturday Kitchen is on and the Two Fat Ladies are baking cakes. How very middle-age of me!
It’s not that I do much in the way of cooking or baking myself. I should, I can, but I don’t. It’s yet another item on the list of Things Wot I Should Do More.
However, tomorrow morning I will be challenging this perception. No, I won’t be doing any cooking, I’ll be hungover as I’m off out for a Stag Day; paintballing this afternoon then vodka bar later on.
If I’m still alive tomorrow that is…
Why are you not going to be alive tomorrow? Either I do not get it, Either you think some insignificant bad habit is going to kill, or maybe you have an illness that I do not know about.
Either you are too worried about dying or you want your life to end.
Artistic license, I’m not dead (obviously) just was very very hungover đ
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