This week seems to have dragged on and on. Nothing particularly noteworthy has happened at work to fill my days and occupy my professional mind. So while the days are getting shorter they just end up feeling longer. The weather’s getting wetter. All I find myself doing at 3pm on a Friday afternoon is wondering why it’s not beer o’clock yet.
I didn’t go to yoga this morning or cycle in to work. I woke up at 6am for yoga, and it was pissing it down outside. Then I woke up again at 8am (still pissing it down) to cycle to work and felt as if I’d somehow managed to sprain my ankle whilst sleeping. So I pulled on some boots and walked to the DLR. Surely this is a perfect opportunity to get some post-work brewskies – seeing as I’m not weighed down by the sober self-righteousness of bicycle commuting – but everyone seems to be out of the office today.
Tonight, beer o’clock will probably consist of me sitting on the couch, alone, drinking leftover Peronis from my 28th birthday straight from the bottle. Red has a work drink obligation. Damn him.
I guess I could always go to the pub myself. But I don’t think I want to hazard ending up like this guy.