So it’s 2 o’clock on a Saturday afternoon and I appear to be trapped in my building. My room smells like a brewery, even though the window has been open for the past 2 hours. My boyfriend, the source of the brewery smells, is tucked up in bed with a hangover. I need to go shopping, but I put some washing on and have an appointment to put on another loud when that’s finished. When I asked the drunken boyfriend when he thought he might be able to get up all I got in response was a few moans. I tried the more direct line: “If I go shopping do you think you’ll be able to get out of bed in about an hour, go downstairs, take the clean clothes out of the machine, put the dirty clothes in, set the washing machine away and then hang up the clean stuff to dry?” Answer: a couple more moans then, in a very weak voice, “maybe if I have some paracetamol or something.” Guess I’m staying here til the second load of washing finishes at 4pm.

Suddenly I really admire people who are married to alcoholics. How do they put up with stuff like this every single day? I’d go crazy within about a week!

Oh well, time to sort out my next load of washing…