Why the hell do people call when you're sittting in your jammies, hair mussed, no make up on, hungover, grumpily listening to Depeche Mode while glaring at the computer screen, waiting for your wasted smooshed useless brain to stop feeling sorry for itself and get on with some fucking work.
What part of the universe decreed it wise to disturb the bleak vicious guilt riddled world of the fat cat?
If you stab me do I not bleed? Isn't that enough.
Well? Any takers?
I'm never drinking again either. Never.