My head was swimming.
Of course - lack of sleep, not enough to drink, bad conscience.
The main reason why I felt so wretched was even a bit more annoying:
I couldn't find my Public Transport Pass.
It has to be said the ticket inspector had been unexpectedly kind (perhaps because it had been Sunday morning) Nevertheless, my 18 square m. suddenly didn't seem so small as they used to.
To be frank, when I opened the my door and saw the battlefield, my heart sank.
In desperation I opted for an outright escape.
The only thing I managed to do was to make sure that the socket timer would switch on the radio fairly early. Then I just staggered onto my bunk bed and went to sleep almost immediately.
Wouldn't wonder if I even suffered from hallucinations - I clearly remember sitting upright on the bed because I thought I had heard loud bangs on the door and men's voices shouting, and yet obviously nothing of the sort had been happening.
When "...you're with the BBC" woke me up, I still felt dizzy.
Maybe I had slept too much...
Anyway, it was still dark, and I quickly got up and started tidying with a firm resolution not to stop for any one reason until I have found the wee blue card. The only thing I found was I found out I was missing my credit card, too. (Understandably, as the last time I had been using it was to pay for the PTP coupon.)
Before long, a strange kind of hunger - the nervous, compulsive-obsessive type - made me change my mind. After a substantial breakfast and a litre of strong green tea I resumed searching.
Do I have to write here I discovered both cards in a handbag I had searched thoroughly several times before?
Okay, that's it then.
Over and done with.
Within minutes after the discovery the timer switched off.
The radio fell silent.
"How long had I been searching?" I wondered.
I wasn't able to think too clearly, so I went to check my phone instead. (I would have looked at the church spire outside my window,
but I couldn't; it was still dark, remember?)
The display...
What?!
The display said 22:03.
Quickly I switched the radio back on
and waited for the end of the news bulletin.
In her heart-warming almost-Dumfries accent
(Did you know she even has a fanclub on Facebook?)
Fiona MacDonald announced:
"It's six past nine GMT."
What??!
Ohh.
Um.
I see.
With my head swimming and my belly full
I climbed back onto the bed.
This time it took me quite a while to fall asleep again.
Of course - lack of sleep, not enough to drink, bad conscience.
The main reason why I felt so wretched was even a bit more annoying:
I couldn't find my Public Transport Pass.
It has to be said the ticket inspector had been unexpectedly kind (perhaps because it had been Sunday morning) Nevertheless, my 18 square m. suddenly didn't seem so small as they used to.
To be frank, when I opened the my door and saw the battlefield, my heart sank.
In desperation I opted for an outright escape.
The only thing I managed to do was to make sure that the socket timer would switch on the radio fairly early. Then I just staggered onto my bunk bed and went to sleep almost immediately.
Wouldn't wonder if I even suffered from hallucinations - I clearly remember sitting upright on the bed because I thought I had heard loud bangs on the door and men's voices shouting, and yet obviously nothing of the sort had been happening.
When "...you're with the BBC" woke me up, I still felt dizzy.
Maybe I had slept too much...
Anyway, it was still dark, and I quickly got up and started tidying with a firm resolution not to stop for any one reason until I have found the wee blue card. The only thing I found was I found out I was missing my credit card, too. (Understandably, as the last time I had been using it was to pay for the PTP coupon.)
Before long, a strange kind of hunger - the nervous, compulsive-obsessive type - made me change my mind. After a substantial breakfast and a litre of strong green tea I resumed searching.
Do I have to write here I discovered both cards in a handbag I had searched thoroughly several times before?
Okay, that's it then.
Over and done with.
Within minutes after the discovery the timer switched off.
The radio fell silent.
"How long had I been searching?" I wondered.
I wasn't able to think too clearly, so I went to check my phone instead. (I would have looked at the church spire outside my window,
but I couldn't; it was still dark, remember?)
The display...
What?!
The display said 22:03.
Quickly I switched the radio back on
and waited for the end of the news bulletin.
In her heart-warming almost-Dumfries accent
(Did you know she even has a fanclub on Facebook?)
Fiona MacDonald announced:
"It's six past nine GMT."
What??!
Ohh.
Um.
I see.
With my head swimming and my belly full
I climbed back onto the bed.
This time it took me quite a while to fall asleep again.
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