morning head: Friday, 15th May, 2015

There’s wonderful sense of false clarity that follows a weekend of late nights and over-indulgence. That first wake up after sleep sans substance-abuse. It’s not a clear head, it’s just the absence of a messed up one. Longtime self-medicators will know what I mean.

This is how I feel now. Morning off… on… er… I have no fucking idea. I don’t even know that it’s morning, except the clock and the sunlight tell me so. Cold shower has done little to help.

I have slept approximately 5.5 hours in the last 39 or so. No, I have not been taking cocaine. Lately.

Welcome to the realities of long-haul flying with a child.

Despite the seating fiasco, and being none too impressed with ending up rows away from my wife and infant son, flanked on either side by people who not only blocked my quick access to the aisle (and hence lending easy assistance to the wifey), but also slept the majority of a fourteen-hour flight in which I managed almost fuck-all shut eye, I can’t lie and say there wasn’t some tiny part in the back of my head that didn’t gleefully think: well, at least I’ll be largely off duty, stuck as I am in the middle of strangers.

I suspect my atypical inability to sleep on the plane was what the hippies call instant-fucking-karma.

And the reality of being stuck in the middle of a darkened plane with an infant in the gloomy distance is not, in fact, the mindless shitty-movie-fest that one imagines it to be. The only thing worse than having to be alert on an aeroplane is actually being alert on an aeroplane.

I did, however, watch Alex Garland’s exceptional Ex Machina, so something worthwhile (other than losing an entire day and not waking up in a gutter with a raging hangover) did come out of the whole thing…

Morning, Time-Warpers.