Wagon Wheels Keep On Turning

Sunday Monday Happy Days
Tuesday Wednesday Happy Days
Thursday Friday Happy Days
Saturday
What A Day... because I woke up with Deadfast in bed next to me, covered in someone else's vomit, wearing a pair of banana-shaped slippers and nothing else.

As you may have seen from the sneaky comments he left on my previous post, his Deadfast-ship is back on the alcohol (or, as he was calling it yestrday afternoon, "al-kee-hole").
He put his brief stint of being tee-total down to being left alone in a cave in the dark... he claims he'd licked some form of rock algae he'd found down there, and had subsequently lost conciousness and claims that he only came-around in the library. He has no recolection of how he got there (he seems not to remember grabbing my arm in the cave, or our journey home from Scotland).
He came-to in the library, and paniced because he thought he'd regressed to childhood and was somehow back in school.
It was only when I went to investigate the library door opening that he realised that he even HAD a library in the house.
*sigh*
There's me thinking he'd had a life-changing experience.

Oh well.

Anyway, he went out last night.
I drove him to his Gentleman's Club in Central London, the one above the Natural History Museum, and left him to it. He said he'd call a taxi at the end of the evening, and asked me to go and buy a pot plant.
I think he meant some marijuana, but I went to the nearest late-night garden centre and bought him a very nice potted plant. I doubt he'll even notice, and will no doubt spend most of Sunday afternoon trying to smoke it.

As I mentioned, I awoke to find him in my bed, mumbling something about "dwarves; they're everywhere!" and hugging my pillow.
He was naked excpet for some novelty slippers, and upon closer inspection I saw he was covered in sick.

He's staggered into the kitchen moments ago and explained that he had helped an old homeless man find his way to a shelter last night, and that the guy had ben very drunk on Special Brew (cheap and nasty stuff, available in cans in supermarkets and off-licenses everywhere). It was, said Deadfast, the old man's vomit.
I don't believe him, or his story about how he had given the old man all of his clothes to keep warm, but I'll not bother pressing him for details.
I honestly get scared even writing the words "Gentleman's Club" so really don't want to know what goes on behind closed doors.

I'm not sure what the plans are for the week.
Deadfast only came into the kitchen on his way into the garden, where he fell asleep whilst sitting in the water feature, so I don't know when he will actually be coherent enough to make any decisions as to what we're doing.
I do know there was a letter waiting for him when we got back from bonnie Scotland.
I didn't get a chance to open it, though, because he swept it into the library with him (along with the local paper, a Su Doku book, and a battered fedora that I'm sure he stole from someone).
I'm sure, as usual, all will be revealed.

I plan to check-up on the staff, make sure the finances are ok for this month, and then I'm going to see "where the wind takes us".

Have a good weekend, people.
I'm sure I won't.