Towel

As I type this, it's Sunday morning. I've been back in my student house for less than 24 hours and have probably spent half of that time not actually in the house. I'm moderately hungover and am currently lacking in healthy food stocks to ease the discomfort. I could do with a decent shower but don't have a clean towel. My bank balance is obscenely high and currently looks probably the healthiest it will look for at least seven more years, if we disregard a potential lottery win, freak fortune-finding occurrence in the middle of the street or ill-conceived attempt at ITV's The Cube.

On the hangover front, though, I've discovered the hard way that draught cider or even regular cider are not particularly adequate for binge-drinking purposes. At least not any more. I've never normally suffered headache-orientated "morning afters" but the sensation currently swirling around my stomach and other bits of digestive system seems all too unmanageable when trying to, you know, not stay motionless in bed all day long. On top of that, one has to contend with the fermented aftertaste of rotten apple and shouting that lingers on the back of the tongue and the fact that my toothbrush is actually located up a flight of stairs.

Since that last paragraph was ended, some four hours have passed for me, whereas four seconds have passed for you. If you're able to get your head around such a temporal issue without parts of your psyche drifting off and screaming, do feel free to continue. Anyway, I managed to get up, put fresh clothes on yet still feel unclean enough to want to shower. A towel needed to be purchased first, however, and fresh food wouldn't have gone a miss either. But you read all about that crap in paragraph one, rendering most of this irrelevant, other than for me to say that what I was going to say would happen earlier actually ended up happening.

I ventured out into the fresh-air based world and some fifteen minutes later I made it to a super-duper-hypermarket that was recently erected in the Crewe area. In the interest of not succumbing to blatant product promotion or whatever I feel inclined to mention that the supermarket is one of a well-known store chain. In the interest of being factually blunt, it was a Tesco Extra. Furthermore, it's on stilts; a ground-floor car-park with the entire store directly above it. As well as that, it's as big as a large village or a small town and quite frankly, I'm still not even sure I covered a quarter of the whole place, and that was after parting with sixty-five pounds in exchange for all kinds of fresh vegetables, fresh and frozen meats and poultry and a towel.

I've now cooked some of it, had a shower and gone back to bed to type this up. Looking back on this, all I've done is colourfully inform whatever poor bastard has decided to read this that I drank alcohol last night and went shopping today. Amount of time it took for me to settle straight back into student mode once again: twenty-four-and-a-bit hours... ish... probably.