I woke this morning with the light headed sensation consequential of an evening of over imbibing vino. Yesterday evening, the alcohol infused fruit of the grape bearing such piquancy it gravitated me towards irresponsible Pinot Grigio consumption.

Like a mermaid beckoning sailors to run aground upon a clandestine rock, this evil outcome from viticulture luring me to a place of physical distress. Spotting my Achilles heel and leading me on a rocky road of ruin…. Well, hangover!

Some may blame my ill-discipline, proffering from position judge and jury this morning’s malaise was self-inflicted. My behaviour the irresponsible actions of a addled old p***head wantonly flouting sensible drinking advocacies by quaffing more than he needed or, indeed, wanted. Proof of which my groggy arrival downstairs this morning to see a full glass of the aforementioned Italian wine nestling untouched on a coffee table mat.

Of course, there is some basis in fact to that accusation. However in my defence your honour the drink led me astray and made me do it!! I’d also appreciate it if you’d take into account my previous unblemished record in the field of excessive alcohol intake….. Actually, in retrospect you probably best not!….. Your witness.

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Anyhow, I’m chronicling this prose with a woolly head every bit as disturbing as the  lockdown hair adorning the periphery of said bonce. Only time will tell how this muddled state affects my creative flow, but I’ve thus far managed to concoct 250 words for the narrative……. Which, if truth be told, is 250 more locutions than yours truly envisaged I’d manage on waking with, what Oz from TV comedy/drama Auf Wiedersehen, Pet would describe as, “A mooth like the bottom of a budgie’s cage!”

The weather outside mirrors my prevailing mood. A dysfunctionally confusing mix of rain, sun, wind and rain….. Yes, I realise I wrote rain twice, but it’s raining a lot!

GJ Strachan can’t remember the last time he felt this hungover, which is hardly surprising as I can’t recall a great deal events yesterday evening. All I can recollect is a 1am bedtime, after raucously singing along to songs from the Phantom of the Opera movie. It wasn’t as tuneful a performance as Gerard Butler’s; however, as I write, I’m yet receive hate mail from neighbours.

Overdoing alcohol consumption frequently allows the otherwise stealthy performer in me to take centre stage. Allowing me a late evening in the spotlight, as opposed to the frustrated stage hand on the periphery.

It’s ages since I’ve seen the Phantom of the Opera movie. Through my wine goggles, I concluded that old Phantomy (as no one calls him) was before his time with his mask wearing malarky. A fashion which millions around the globe have recently adopted.

Butler thankfully holding a tune better in the movie than fellow heartthrob Russell Crowe did in the Les Miserables movie. Crowe an accomplished actor, but whose warbling while portraying Inspector Javert was almost as grim as the lives of the French people he terrorised.

Anyhow, I’ve reached my minimum 500 word target I set myself for each narrative. Consequently, I’ll bid you a fond farewell prior to going to stick my head in the freezer!