Bruce's journal (original) (raw)

I am, indeed, too old for this shit.

Along with Ollie, DT, Morgan and a handful of colleagues and friends, I hit the Thursday night at T Bar in Shoreditch to see Andy Weatherall and Ivan Smagghe DJing (along with a short live act, Battant, who were a kind of Motormark-meets-Siouxsie but not nearly as good as either).

It was a good night; Ivan Smagghe was excellent and it wasn't full of arseholes unlike the dubstep night at The End. However, the problem with going out on a school night is this: either I flake at around midnight and have to scurry home before my brain turns into a pumpkin or I take some form of stimulant to stay awake, fail to sleep properly at all and turn into a zombie the following day.

In this instance, the stimulant was legal, the sleep was fitful and the net result was that even though I sneaked in an hour nap at work (my boss' lunch hour doesn't overlap mine), I got home yesterday and slept from 5:30pm until 9:30am this morning. Sixteen hours' sleep - that's my body's idea of catching up.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to break the habit of a lifetime and have breakfast - because naturally I didn't get chance for an evening meal.