On Saturday, I went out with a few friends and Mr Disorientated Graduate. This is not unusual behaviour. Having recently moved to a new town that's slightly away from the base of our friends, I volunteered to drive, and spent the night drinking lemonade. It was a great catch-up, and even better not too late, as I'm not very good at late nights.
On the way home, passing through the country lanes that link Seaside Resort to the outside world, a thought passed through my mind. I glanced at Mr DG. “Do you want... you know..?”
His eyes lit up, possible under the power of a couple of cheap pints of lager. “Oh yes. Oh yes I DO.”
I put my foot down on the accelerator.
Stop it you filthy creatures, what I'm obviously referring to is going to McDonald's Drive-Thru on the way home and then vegging out in front of the telly. Don't let it be said our relationship is without romance. I then realised that having watching Mr DG drink cheap lager all night, I fancied a drink. I looked at out drinks supply. I shrugged.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I ate a McChicken Sandwich a small glass of port at 11.30pm on a Saturday night.
LIVING. THE. DREAM.
There is also a fascinating piece from The Guardian about graduation. Obviously this blog is superior. Ahem. But if you're looking for some real advice, it's not a bad read.