Ow, my fucking head!

It must be an age thing.

In my teens and early twenties I could happily knock back the best part of a bottle of rum (perhaps with a yo-ho-ho if I was feeling especially salty) and wake up with nothing worse than a furred tongue and teeth that felt as though they’d been laminated in pure cane sugar.

This morning, following last night’s birthday celebrations, I am suffering what can only be described as an utter bastard of a hangover.

I’m writing this blog entry quickly, having just arranged the day off work with my very understaning boss (thanks, Kevin!) who was, himself,  the worse for wear.

Because, aside from my general wooziness this morning, yesterday was a blast. Good food, good friends, good rum (my God, the rum!) but, even better: good news.

A local publishing house, Ice Pick Books, got in touch with me, having read some of my drabbles and whatnot online, and asked if I wanted to produce a small chapbook of nanofiction with them. The answer, of course, was yes.

There is still plenty to sort out – content, contracts, payment, and so on – but, yeah. In principle I should be having my first solo release coming out early in the new year. If that’s not a good way to spend your birthday, I don’t know what is.

Anyway, I’m off to bed to sleep this off. I’ve not forgotten my pledge of yesterday’s post. I fully intend to wake up this afternoon much refreshed, and spend the evening writing a more substantial piece of work.

We’ll see.

Peace, out.

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