More lounging

It has become a bit of a habit, posting while waiting for an Easyjet flight at Malpensa. Only this time it's not late at night. It's not even 6 am.

Here is a brief summary of my last 72 hours, just so you get the flavour of the whole thing.

Monday: I return from London, light mourning. G turns up (drunk) at my place, followed by stoned E. They both rant on for a few hours. I kick them out around 1 am.

Tuesday: I rush around like a true VBAIP (very busy and important person), ending the day at dinner with L, a crazy friend of mine who is enamoured with the Hub. We drink and eat like fiends. We talk social media, politics, women (err...) and how to chance the world. He stumbles off into the night on his road bike. I walk home and drunk-dial PDF.

Wednesday: I wake up with painful cramps: gastroenteritis. I proceed to purge the inside of my body of its contents, including the previous night's dinner. Repeatedly. I go to a meeting at 9 am, almost faint with fever, stumble back home. The rest of the day's meetings cannot be cancelled. I move from my bed to the kichen, where I hold court with people who have travelled from Rome to meet me. Between meetings, I rush back into bed. I eventually collapse at 8 pm and sleep on and off until 10 am.

Thursday: feeling slightly better, I resume normal life, and somewhat manage to catch up with the world. I go to bed at 10 after watching an episode of Gossip Girl (whatever happened to our obsession with GG? When did we loose interest? I think when it started going all serious on us, not sure. It certainly has lost a lot of it charme, but it's still a pretty thing to look at when your brain is on stand-by).

Friday: alarm clock rings at 3 am, although I have of course been up since 2:30. I think I might be delirious. Bus drives into the night at 4 am, speeding like in a Keanu flick (hence the picture, I know you were wondering Le Duc...). So here I am, barely 6 am, waiting for this plane to leave for Brussels.

I feel like I deserve a little holiday...