You say "exile" like it's a bad thing

It's Sunday morning and I'm already up, nursing a hot cup of tea and some pretty classy bed hair.

Yesterday I placed myself under house arrest - something I do when I need to catch up on sleeping/watching TV/reading (circle whichever is appropriate). In this case, I did a bit of all those things - and managed to knock off a fair bit of my latest Ken Folland reading project, the sequel to his amazing literary paperweight, Pillars of the Earth. My week had been a busy one and so in my view at least, the voluntary exile was necessary and very, very welcome indeed.

The week in review? Well let's check the highlights:

• Monday was a visit to a cocktail bar near work, where the barmen were evidently having way more fun than the patrons (weird). The bartender at said establishment did something pretty disgusting with the cocktail shaker when I told him I didn't mind "dirty" martinis. And so, in thinly-disguised revulsion, and is my usual way anyway, I ordered a French martini.
• Tuesday was pretty much a standard work day, but I knew what was coming in my week so I laid pretty low.
• Wednesday, S&C got to London and I took a half-day off work to go out to Heathrow to meet them. I wasn't sure how many people would be in the T3 Arrivals Hall, so I borrowed an Australian flag to wave - more so S&C would have no trouble seeing me in the crowd. One of my bosses found this tactic slightly amusing and made an offhanded remark about my "uniqueness", and I'm still trying to figure out if it was a compliment or not. Ensuring my weary travellers got booked into their hotel OK, I took them for a really long walk through Trafalgar Square and up into Piccadilly Circus, where we had a really tasty Italian dinner.
• Thursday was work happy hour day and because my office was hosting it, I worked behind the bar. S&C's Contiki trip was starting bright and early the next day, so I didn't get to see them but I wished them a safe trip and encouraged them to text me news as they tootled around the UK. Normally I don't drink when I work behind the bar at office happy hours (you're allowed to, I just don't like to do it), but obviously on this particular Thursday night I was influenced by the company I was keeping (oh isn't it so often that way?!). Fast forward to a rather boisterous Thai dinner after the happy hour, followed by a giggly commute home on the last train around for miles.
• Friday morning was horrible and I would have complained about it, but I had lost the power of coherent speech until at least lunchtime. The office was vewy, vewy qwiet. There is something to be said for hangovers in your 30s - they are a vicious, horrible thing. Needless to say I was in no state to go anywhere after work but I made it through the whole day (hurrah!) and about 20 seconds after walking through my front door, I was in my pyjamas again.
• Saturday, as we already know, was a day of rest and recuperation - not just from Thursday night, but from the whole week that was.

Today is different. Today I have rebounded and I'm actually going to leave the house and enjoy a delicious brunch in Putney, a lovely part of the city just southwest of where I'm living (only 1 train stop further on the line). It's not a particularly sunny Sunday today, but once this load of laundry has finished, I'm going to head out and face the day anyway. Bring it on.