...I'm not sure getting to be the patron saint of haemorrhages is much of a softener for the fact that I get stabbed in the throat, cut my own eyes out and get forced into prostitution.
Check out the eyes on a plate pic! Nice!
I'm feeling far from saintly this morning.
I have a few new rules in life that I aim to follow from now on. Firstly, NEVER EVER agree to play drinking games with anyone of Russian descent. You lose. Secondly, remember that you become a blathering idiot after combining grappa and limoncello. Thirdly, ignore the urge to eat Whoppers at 1am before running for your train. None of these actions will lead to a state of optimum health and well-being.
Still, the fact that I managed to get myself back home on the infamous 1:06 train from Centraal Station is a testament to my ability to hold it together against the odds. Perhaps I should become the Patron Saint of Wobbly Journeys?
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