The Hornchurch thing wasn't too bad, apart from the dreary journey, and now I don't have to go for another four years, at least. M's a lovely person, but we never had that much in common,even when we were work mates. She now totaly lives a 'grownup' life, bland newish house in very boring surroundings, with her (nice enough-)suit-man husband, etc. etc. Just weird, man... I can't deny I would not refuse some of her consumer durable goodies, but on the whole, I prefer my vie de boheme.
Got a lift back to the station. (Yes, she has a car...), and actually felt quite sober by he time I'd poured a vanilla Coke, fed the cat, got my caftan on and entered TV-land, where the lovely Alfred Molina was being shredded by a rampant mutant breeder bimbo of some sort (SPIECES). Think I'd seen the beginning once before, but basically don't know what was supposed to be happening. Fell asleep watching JULIEN DONKEY BOY, which I've got on tape,staggered off to my pit, and awoke with this hangover. Argh.