Well punch my arm and call me Matthew.
Four days of absolute crazy mayhem, British festie-style.
I'm now at work trying to bang together a presentation for our MD, and am so retarded, when I went to the toilet, I discovered my watch on upside down and my panties on back to front and inside out.
That's how no sleep for four days will affect you.
I can tick the box - I've done some crazy stuff now. That I probably never need to do again.
God it was fun.
I will diarise tomorrow.
It is the eve of my [gulp, fuck, loser, arrgh help me, this is torture, why can't I stay young, Peter Pan save me motherlover, fuck fuck fuck] 31st birthday.
Tomorrow, after all this debauchery, I turn 31.
I'm no longer just thirty. I'm in my thirties. For the first time in my life, I am absolutely dreading this birthday.
I cried about it over the weekend. But that might've been the cider.
The best gift for an almost 31 year old non-married, non-pregnant girl though? By far a ticket to a four day top-rated British festival in the middle of an island.
Mate. Will document tomorrow when I've stopped drooling and can read properly, and when have caught up on sleep.