Blergh! Why? Why did I choose to drink cheapo whisky from a massive bottle with a questionable label on it when I live in Scotland where every second bar has an amazing selection of single malts? Why? Why did I choose to mix it with cheapo knock off coke from a mixer gun? And why on God's good earth did not one of my friends say 'Hey, Lozzy, you don't drink that much anymore, maybe you shouldn't be knocking those back quite so quickly?'.

I'm going for some much needed retail therapy to make it go away! At least I didn't embarrass myself (I don't think).

In other news, I saw a real life goth yesterday sat in a bus station at 7am. I thought they died out years ago?

What did you do last night? Any thoughts on the proclivity of goths? (is proclivity a word? Is it the right word? Am I still drunk? Who knows anymore!)