One of the drawbacks of playing rugby and enjoying the social side is that most Saturdays nights are a bit of black hole as far as memory is concerned. And after last Saturday I must of crossed the event horizon earlier than normal. It means that Sunday mornings are spent trying to reconstruct the previous evening. I get little clues from my mobile phone. I noticed that I phoned Mrs BW at 9.52pm 9.58pm and 10.02pm, and then phoned my brother, presumably to gloat over the defeat of the oh so modest All Blacks. Have they stopped their clock yet or have they added four more years to it? I also woke up in the marital bed and not the spare room. (Always a clue to the sort of evening I’ve had)
Anyway its Tuesday and things are almost back to normal. I’ve retrived my rugby kit from the taxi firm that bravely took me home late on saturday night, and established that I did not have any takeaways on route home and am just about feeling normal again. Can’t wait for Saturday really.