The morning after.

I need to go out on Wednesdays more often. Last night was awesome.

Vodka and coke at 50p a go is both a brilliant and a terrible idea.

Brilliant because... well, I don't need to explain it how vodka and coke for 50p is brilliant, do I? And terrible because - and I'm sure you can get this one too - it means that if I get £10 out for the night, entry is £3, stashing your bag is £1, I have £6 left, which is twelve (twelve!) vodka and cokes.
Not that I drank twelve vodka and cokes. Because I didn't realise this until I'd had four SoCo (god I hate that contraction) and lemonades, at £1.70 each.

I make that sound like it's a bad thing, but let's be honest, I would probably be swimming in a sea of pain right now if I had drunk twelve vodka and cokes in the space of four hours. So let's just all be grateful that I have expensive taste.

In any case... I had a brilliant night. You know sometimes you just feel like dancing... well I'm not a great dancer, but sometimes I get the urge. It was a lot of fun.

See? I can have a life.

The only problem with this plan, though, is the day after. Which, of course, isn't at the front of your mind while you're squirming through a dingy, sweaty club in platforms with a vodka and coke in each hand at 1am.
And this is where I discover the downfalls of flexible working hours.
It is all very well to wake up wishing you had actually drunk the pint of water you got yourself at 4 o clock that morning (a mere three and a half hours ago), and think, "I know, I'll go in at half nine and just lie here quietly moaning for a while." Until you realise, this means you will be working until 6.

But still. I stayed in bed til nine. On a weekday.
I rule.