After my workout on Friday, I came home and resolved to get to the gym at least once, if not twice over the weekend. After all, it was going to be quiet and cheap weekend, considering I was getting my hair done on Saturday and would therefore be broke.
Oh, how God obviously laughed at my plans.
So, Saturday’s hair appointment took about 3.5 hours (I have a lot of hair to colour!) and I had to get some food in me so I went home and ended up doing laundry and then napping. There goes the gym on Saturday – but no fear, Sunday is still an option. After all, Saturday night is going to be a quiet one … right?
Ummm. Yeah. Quiet one.
N came over and we sat chatting for a while and then decided to go to a pub for some sweet potato fries and a quick drink. We ended up ducking into Scruffy’s and encountered a group of English rugby boys and 2 bottles of white wine.
Let’s just say I got no sleep and spent Sunday nursing the most wicked hangover I’ve had in a long time. Okay, 3 weeks.
And this after promising my trainer I would cut down on the alcohol. Psssht.
I didn’t make it to the gym. I was in bed last night at 9pm and slept through to 6am, when my alarm should have gone off, had I remembered to set it. I’m really glad that I’m a creature of routine because otherwise I would probably still be asleep, oblivious to work and the world around me.
I kinda wish I was.
Oh well, onwards and upwards. Training session tonight with J and then off to see Sex and The City with the girls.