On the train to London this morning, going to my rehearsal, the man sitting opposite me got a bottle of booze out of his bag and took a swig. It was 10am. I could smell him when he got on the train – he was young, just a normal guy. I am glad not to be feeling as though I need a top-up of alcohol to help me through a hangover; I am sure that is something I have occasionally done, the hair of the dog. It’s not a pretty sight, and it struck me today what a strange thing it was to do.
Back home now, and heading towards another quiet night in.