Am, with the rest of my office, extremely hungover.
At Orient in Melrose Arch. Always great food. Had the seared slamon with ginger-infused mash potato.
Woke up on and off the entire night, plagued by unforgiving pukiness.
Not so sure about that salmon now. Even though it was seared to perfection and the flakes were just melting off like they're meant to. Like in the fantasy of my final meal in the event I was ever sent to the electric chair, because I did something naughty in Texas.
Perhaps the prawn cakes? Or maybe, more likely, the melon slammers?
Am feeling the nauseous side of the back end of a bus.
But in general, wine diet going considerably well, am pleased to report.
Memory, not as hot. Was calling a colleague's husband Hank the whole evening. And that's not his name.
And have re-experienced and rejuvenated my Spice Girls album.
At least I dreamt about New Zealand last night. As in the country, not beached whales from said country and sexual relations thereof.
PS: In other news, Amazon Japan is already selling my book. Which doesn't exist for another month. I wonder what they're saying?
Hilarious. Apparently I'm....big in Japan.