So it’s been a week since our return from the US of A (where we finished the trip in grand style with a meal at the establishment closest to our New York hotel in the dubiously named but conveniently close-to-JFK “suburb” of Jamaica: Burger King. I had something called crisp-‘n-chickeny or chick’n-crisp or such like, which turned out to be the most measly burger type thing ever seen, a slab of white crumbed “meat” in a sloppy white bun, and some onion rings, quite easily the worst I’ve ever had. We did earlier that day sample the new Bud Lite with Lime, which was actually pretty good).
I’ve been sleeping a lot since I got back, which I put down to some delayed version of jetlag, but it may also be related to the amounts of wine drunk in a week of general celebration following the donning of a red cloak and being pronounced doctor of philosophy by the vice-chancellor (not an everyday sort of thing).
This night I dread the sleep because it must be rudely interrupted at 3.30am for a 4.50am pick-up tomorrow. By friends, though, who are treating the philosophe and his wife to a weekend in Zambia, and not any shoddy old place, mind you. I’m sure it will be sweet, with things like spit-roasted warthogs to usher in the sunset, not to mention bucket loads of gin and tonic (we took no malaria prophylactics!!), and once the first hour of wretched awakeness is over and done with, it’ll be about time for a breakfast bloody mary, which is not the worst thing I could think of. (Imagine those poor people who have to go to work tomorrow?)