Morning Has Broken

There's nothing like being woken up the morning after a staff party by a phone call from work. After the initial fuzzy disorientation comes a pause as you decide whether to answer it or not. Maybe they're calling courteously to check that you're still alive. Maybe they're calling to remind you of some horrendous atrocity you perpetrated in the hazy alcohol-fug of the early hours - involving a cactus, a bucket of urine and your boss's head - and assuring you that you can consider yourself well and truly sacked.

Or alternatively, maybe they're calling you into work in spite of your hellish hangover, like they did to me this morning.

I'd be lying if I said it was the most fun day's work I've ever done, but it at least gave me the opportunity to try and piece together some of the details of the party. As everyone else was in a similar state to me, it became a bit of a group effort, and not a particularly successful one at that.

When I got home I remembered I'd taken my camera out with me, and thus had a photographic record of sorts. The emphasis there is on "of sorts", because there's some gloriously baffling stuff amongst the various happy-drunken-people shots. For instance, I'd love to tell you what was going through my head when I took the above picture at one o'clock this morning, but I honestly have no idea.

All the same, I'll let it stand as a testament to my night, and my cruelly broken morning today.