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What went wrong?

It seemed like an ordinary Sunday (with exceptionally good weather for London), with the usual late afternoon fun at the excessively hot Royal Vauxhall Tavern.

Next thing I know, I'm waking up on the deserted green next to the RVT with the most atrocious headache, after snoozing off for an unidentified period of time. It felt like 3am but it mustn't have been too late, as I managed to retrieve my backpack from the cloakroom (smiling cloakroom attendant sadly not there yesterday), where I bumped into G. who luckily took me into his cab and dropped me off home (hadn't he done that I would still be walking around looking for a night bus).

Bits and pieces that I recall doing before nodding off:

• greeting Marcus with a feel of his buttocks;
• making a face at Dave at the other side of the bar for absolutely no reason at all;
• seeing Ian breeze by outside and failing to grasp what he was telling me (I think I remember the words "too hot" and "Duke's" so I presume it was nothing too important).

Apologies to all.

And, strangely enough, I woke up at 7 this morning and started working right away as if nothing ever happened. I do feel a bit wobbly though.