205.
Yesterday's excesses at the Irish Pub caught up with me last night.
At 2.30am my alarm clock inexplicably went off, and I mistakenly thought that it was time to get up.
Same thing happened at 5.30am, with much the same result.
Strange, I thought, as I reset the clock again - this time for 9am.
Exhausted, I went back to bed and managed to drift off to sleep for another hour.
Refreshed I certainly was not, though, and no matter how hard I tried I just couldn't get back to sleep.

At 8am I gave up the struggle, picked up a book and started reading just for the sake of it.
Rarely have I been so engrossed in the writings of someone with whose politics I so disagree.
Although the author's views are to the right of sensible, he did at least manage to express them with a great deal of humour.
Forgiving him his political sins, I inwardly sniggered at his anecdotes from his travels researching the book he was writing.
All this was well and good, but time was marching on, and I had work to do.
Time to get out of bed and round the alfarrabistas in the search for some dull memoires that I need for my research.

Reluctantly, I dragged my weary bones out of bed and into the shower.
In little more than 20 minutes under the showerhead, I was beginning to wilt again, and wanted to go back to bed.
Perhaps that's what I should have done.