No-one wanted to come out to play on Saturday.
Even Dr Manhattan was in a curmudgeonly, stay-at-home frame of mind.
There were a couple of gigs on, but I wasn't somehow in the mood.
I'd been out quite late on Friday, and then slept badly; I didn't fancy another late session.
So.... I thought I'd go out for a few drinks at 12 Square Metres, aim to get drunk fairly quickly, and then head home around 9.30 or 10pm for an "early night".
A few pints of draught and a couple of tequila slammers were doing the job very nicely.
But then, just as I was about to leave at 9.30, I received a text message from Dr Manhattan - he'd had a change of heart and was en route to the bar. Exquisite timing.
Of course, that meant another four hours of getting completely lashed, and being in no condition to do anything for most of Sunday....
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