Yes, so anyway, I skipped swimming for the pub last night, which frankly was bound to happen in the end. Had to leave the station just as I got to the tube entrance due to a bomb alert. I reached the road in time to notice my pissed up work colleague Danny too confused to realise that the nice people were trying to get him up the stairs and out of the station. They were about to shut him in, when I insisted on having a go, and fortunately he responded to my familiar tones.
I was most put out when the station didn't blow up; I can't claim to have saved his life or anything and thus he will not owe me beer for eternity. Damn.
I'm hungover still, but in a fluffy way, so it's OK. Am fucking ravenous, though. Food.