Slightly sore head

Well, as could have been predicted, we didn't even make it out of the restaurant once we got talking, so no skating and no German Market action, though plenty of red wine (and an ill-advised limoncello, which I'm blaming for my feeling of wrong this morning). We also managed to embarrass our waiter, who seemed to have an uncanny knack for appearing behind the person saying something outrageous (often me). He overheard anecdotes about day-glo nylon thongs, phallic glassware (and gestures you should not make with them) and enthusiastically joined in a conversation about suet. We're going back on Friday, and are hoping he'll be working again!

On a more writerly note, I managed my 1000 words pre-wine, so they all, more or less, make sense.