I don't have to be quiet for fear of waking the late working Common Law. Though it's not like I usually start the day with an acapella rendition of Apocalyptico's version of 'In the Hall of the Mountain King'.
I get to drink my coffee of choice, none of this Fairtrade piss for the Gimme, not no more. But my body is unused to this once merely caressing caffeine kick, and I am sent running to the bathroom at the first sip with the day long headache and shakes in place before my ass hits the throne.
Lyric FM. I no longer to have to reach awkwardly from my Illy induced seated position to spin the dial from Common Law's bizarre Radio One preference to the sultry and calming tones of the radiophic genius that is Marty Whelan. And yet this overworked talent will insist on playing the occasional Michael Bubbly track. The prick.
I've gone longer in many a tech week, in multiple Frances. But this feels harder, already. I'm trying, though. Trying hard to find the positives and so that I might immediately and romantically find the negatives.
Wait till I tell you about the wondrous horribleness of Skippy.