Reverse werewolf.

I’ve kept the raging modest since we got back from the trip. (Raging in the 80s sense, that is. Not raging in the always furious 2020s sense). Friday night just gone was the first time we’d eaten out since coming home. Then Saturday night we had dinner at a Sardinian restaurant with old uni friends. And last night was a small catch-up at the home of one of Janes workmates.

Internet friends, I am destroyed.

I can remember when I looked forward to book tours because it’d be a whole month of late nights and parties and weird bars in foreign cities.

Honest to God, I just wanted to get into bed and fall asleep watching tv on my iPad by about 6.30 Saturday night and my eyes currently look like I’ve done my seventh or eight full moon werewolf transformation in a week.

In fact, I feel like a reverse werewolf. The moon comes out and I suddenly sprout flannelette pyjamas and develop a murderous thirst for warm milk and a chocolate chip cookie.