Stokie slump

A struggle of a day, completely self-inflicted. Why do drunk people remove contact lenses and fold clothes so expertly, but fail to drink any water or take paracetamol before passing out?

This was an exceptionally bad hangover, the type that only crops up once every few years. I am not a very regular drinker so sometimes when I let loose, it goes a little bit wild. I think I'm who alcohol awareness ads warn the general public about.

A new experience, which I'd care not to repeat, was retching so much that even when the junk food desire phase kicked in early evening, stomach acid had burned my throat so much that I could only swallow water and yogurt.

I completed my much maligned expenses claim in the evening, so felt like I achieved something, whilst kicking myself at the general loss of productivity.

One of my favourite Christmas presents was this tile coaster, with a typical Stoke-on-Trent expression. Everybody calls everybody else 'duck' in Stoke. Or 'shug'. There is a lot of warmth in interactions with 'salt of the earth' types in Stoke, which isn't quite there in Cambridge.