Waking Up

You know how some people have those tales to tell (usually after a particularly messy night) of waking up next to somebody who, in the cold light of sobriety, really wasn’t their thing? Well, that’s never happened to me (ok, except for a vague anecdote which is far less shocking a tale than I paint it to be). But after an hour’s nap and having drunk what Drip Café made for me when I asked for their “closest substitute for actual sleep” — I think it was a triple (quadruple?) espresso mocha — I think I’m having the musical equivalent of that classic drunken-shag moment that is so beloved of the sitcom genre. You know, actually, her voice grates enough that it renders the rest of Portishead’s music painful. What was I thinking? I can only assume my sleep-debt work-masochism is sending my neurons a bit loopy. Let’s forget the whole thing, and I’ll resume “normal service” in April.