Jesus wept, I’m hungover. Ollie and I managed to drink a bottle of whiskey between us last night. A bottle of local, Bangladeshi brewed whiskey, chased with 7Up.
Hangovers in your thirties are not fun. They are very, very, very tough going. Ollie (24 years of age) skipped out of the flat at 7:30am. I (almost 34 years of age) limped out at 1:30pm. With 8 missed calls on my phone. Verrry professional Estelle.
My morning was as follows: Get woken up by Ollie at 7:30am because he couldn’t figure out how to open the front door (still drunk I suspect). Go back to bed. Get up at 9:30, have a shower. Go back to bed. Get woken up by the cleaner to help her try kill the rat she has found in the flat. High light of the morning so far. We couldn’t find the rat, not that I was much help, sitting on the chair with my head in my hands. Go back to bed. Get up, Anne makes me tea and toast. Think I’m strong enough to leave the flat and go to VSO office. I was mistaken. Go back to bed. Wake up to 8 missed calls on my phone. Phone VSO and am told that meeting with UNDP (United Nations Development Programme) has been moved forward from tomorrow to this afternoon. Realise I really will have to ACTUALLY leave the flat soon. Catch ricksaw to VSO office as there is no way I could handle the 5 minute walk.
I’m still dizzy and a bit shaky, but I think I’m going to pull through. Here’s hoping.
Updated to add: I survived the UNDP meeting. Yay. And spotted cute boy at UN Office. Double yay, cute men DO exist here. Pity I was looking like a sack of shit though.