I have absolutely no one to blame but myself. And yet, I reserve the right to have a jolly good moan about it.

Right now, my lower back feels like a rusty hinge desperately begging for WD-40, and the ache is so deep it might be touching my soul. I’ve swallowed enough paracetamol to sedate a small pony, just to take the vicious edge off. Why the internal rebellion? Because I had the audacity to enjoy myself yesterday.