Some days...

Some days should just go down in history for being the ones when you should never have left your bed. This was one of them. Not in the "OMG I wish I was dead" sort of way, but more in the "What the hell?!!?!?!?" sort of way.

This is a brief yet comprehensive rundown of what happened...

10 am: Wake up with massive hangover. Lady V is stumbling around the kitchen, moaning about life not being worth living. Reassuring hug seems to work, although it's early to tell.
11 am: Take shower. See my face in mirror and discover huge spot about to boil to surface of nose. Recoil in horror.
12 am: Light blog-reading and posting.
1.30 pm: Meet LC, who's visiting from Milan and I know through work. He turns up with his mother, a 50-something painter living in London, who proceeds to hijack conversation for the next 2.5 hours. She complains about everything, from gastro-pubs taking over London (I have taken them to a lovely gastro-pub in my hood) to immigrants swamping the UK (and you are what, exactly?).
4 pm: Decide to go to gym to cool off. Bike has puncture. Waste precious time fixing it. Arrive at gym too late to get any exercise done. Decide to warm up in the sauna. Get chatted up by one of F's old lecherous men. Recoil once more trying to escape his loud conversation under the showers.
5:45 pm: Meet S at the Curzon Soho Bar, someone referred to me as a potential work contact. In fact, he is utterly boring, a 30 y.o. self-important, totally-French banker, who loves opera (which I hate) and says "rock isn't music, it's just noise". When asked "what makes you passionate" replies: "my upstairs neighbours who complain about my piano playing, it really drives me nuts, I could kill them". Find myself recoiling once more. Leave hastily after downing 2 pints of Guinness.
8 pm: Cycle across London to Tower Bridge to meet LL, a really not good-looking Italian friend of a friend, whom I met once and who has been asking me out for months. The invite said "Dinner for 6". In fact, it's only us. Keep an eye on the exits while engaging in light and superficial conversation. He wants to know all about my last relationship. Politely tell him these are matters I don't discuss with people I only met once. He insists. I seal myself in silence.
9:45 pm: His uber-gay flatmate shows up with his uber-gay boyfriend, both middle-class-trying-really-hard-to-be-upper-class boys and camp as a flock of flamingos, shrieking how everything and everyone on Brick Lane looks like they've been dragged out of a rubbish bin. I down a large glass of grappa. Then a second one.
10 pm: Make a swift exit, claiming it'll take me hours to cycle home.
10:15 pm: Am home.
10:20 pm: Get text message from LL: "I have a crush on you".
10:22 pm: After swift consultation with flatmate H, respond "Sorry, I only have lukewarm friendly feelings for you and they're going to stay that way at the very best".

Now, will someone tell me: are there ways to know when such days are about to hit you? Some sort of galactic warning? A divine sign in the sky? Because frankly, had I known all this was going to happen beforehand, I would have simply gone back to bed...