It's a sad, sad day when you realise your boyfriend is right and you are wrong.

Last night, in an effort to drag my miserable arse back to life, we went to the pub. I don't normally drink mid week but thought it would be ok, clearly I thought this because I had forgotten exactly why I don't drink mid week.

I suffer from the most horrendous hang overs, and I suffer from them at the mere sniff of anything alcoholic. They hit at about 6.30am and the worst is usually over by 11, so the only way to deal with them is to sleep through it. Hence! (because you should always follow the word Hence! with a capital letter) I don't drink mid week, because I have to be up for work in the morning.

Last night though, I thought it would be ok, and to be fair, I only drank two (large) glasses of red wine but then on the way home the motorway was closed (Oh The Swearing) and we ended up on the south bound M40 which leads, not to my house, but to Oxford and ultimately London. This meant we had to go a different way home and to cut a long and, as I'm sure you'll have figured out by now, incredibly boring story short, we were very late, at least two hours later than my have-to-be-asleep-or-I-am-unable-to-function-in-the-morning time.

Unfortunately, I also had my red wine head on rather than my sensible mid week head on, and my red wine head wanted to stay up and do rude things. Glenn, who had not had a drink but had spent the evening being chased down a field by large, hairy men (I believe in some circles they call it 'rugby') said 'sweetness, are you sure, I don't want to dampen your spirits but you'll regret this in the morning when you can't wake up' (what he actually said was something like 'GET OFF ME WOMAN' but for the sake of his internet reputation I've edited it slightly), but my red wine head was like 'I have had two glasses of wine! I am INDESTRUCTABLE! Bring it on with the rudeness! How much do you love me? Huh? HUH?! HOW MUCH?!'.

And now, I really, really wish I had just gone to sleep.