I was hungover all yesterday after I was out drinking all of Saturday. Thing is, I'd been in town since 6am (got up at 5) and I met my friend (who I've known since we were kids) at around 12pm. We watched the football in the pub (Liverpool v Man Utd) and we won 4-1, and I almost ruined my voice with shouting like I did last month at the Frank Turner gig.
Anyway, we sat in our favorite bar until around 9 or 10pm and we talked for ages. Just about moving out and getting a place to live, crappy jobs, holiday in Europe, which barmaid was hotter. I told him about the novel I was going to work on, which I haven't bothered with, and I knew I wouldn't do it, I don't have the patience or the attention span. But it doesn't matter. I'm still collecting ideas.