***
“Fifty thousand pounds.”
Hair of the dog works. I woke up on the couch this morning to the Die Another Day DVD menu, throat dry, feeling like Hell – the kind of hangover where you know you’re f****d because you can’t even get up to get out of the house and down to Pret for the ultimate in hungover breakfasting.
“God. Per year?”
“What else? You don’t work in… f*****g Tesco, you know.”
“Well I don’t work there either.”
Hair of the dog works. I had totally forgotten until Martin’s text that I had had somewhere to be tonight. If I had I probably wouldn’t have passed out watching films, or at the very least, I’d have chosen a better one. But it’s my own fault, really. I didn’t even remember sticking on Die Another Day, though the chronological sense, after Tomorrow Never Dies and The
