There’s a form of torture that involves letting victims fall asleep, but just before they enter actual REM/Slumber, they are woken up. With that in mind, let me tell you about my day. Last night was a surprisingly impromptu visit into London, the Walnut Crew had arranged a big meet up, but due to sudden schedule issues it looked like I couldn’t make it. Thankfully things sorted out and with Rob’s all-access Railcard in hand, I made my way towards Leytonstone.
Not having seen them for a long time, I was more than a bit apprehensive. This apprehension was blasted to the other end of the capital, however, when I was greeted by a series of hugs that sent me, quite literally, bowling into the nearby tables. Ten points for knocking a woman’s face into her pint. What followed was a superb evening of laughter, giggles, penis trumpets and animal masks. Resulting in me crashing on Katie’s Walthamstow Sofa, as I needed to be back in Guildford before 8am at the latest, to give Rob his card back. I could not, however get to sleep, which was odd as the previous night I had seen only around 2 hours of slumber. 5am drew nearer and I pattered away on my iPod and Motorola games. That was until 4.40 or so, when I began to fall asleep, only to be woken up 20mins later by my alarm.
The journey back to Guildford was simple enough, and as I found to my dignity degradation, the National Rail seats can be rather comforting, almost good enough for a sleep. That is, before being woken up by a ticket inspector, who you then mumble something to about having to finish the race first. You know, to save the muffin people. Odd looks thrown my way aside, I made it home. Where sleep just did not seem possible, so I went for a walk. Meeting a random assortment of friends who were on their way to work. I think I may have still been slightly drunk. I saw Rob off to the station before finally heading home to sleep.
25 minutes later, the plummer arrived. Barefoot and tousel-faced, I let him in, showed him the boiler, ugged and grugged, and set him to work. Offering the man a cup of tea, I went downstairs, promptly falling asleep. When finished, he woke me up and showed himself out. I dragged myself to bed and curled up under the covers. 15 minutes later, there was a knock at the door. The plummer was there again, inquiring about a future visit, I gave the best sentences that I knew from my limited English in this sleep deprived state and let him go. Back to bed and sleep. 20minutes passed and Rob rang my phone to make sure everything had worked out with the Plummer, I think I explained in words what I understood and then asked if I could go back to sleep. Thirty minutes into my sleep, I received a phone call from a wrong number, who I think, I then asked if they wanted to go drinking. They haven’t called again.
Four hours later and I was woken to the phone ringing from the Sarah of Mosley, inquiring information on parking and places for a good ol’ drinkies time tonight. Met with a slightly more upbeat version of myself, we arranged place and times. I looked at my phone and saw that during the course of the day, I have also received many texts, to which I have replied with an assortment of “gunkla fingy slip?”. I am now awake and moments away from seeing Sarah, in my last night in Guildford for the next few days. Much like the previous year, I am the last one in the house to remain. Home tomorrow, Christmas is biting the back of our heels and it has been an amazing few months.
Hopefully this story was interesting enough to send all of you to sleep.