The longer he sat by himself, the harder he tried to recall the events of the evening previous - it did little good and as Nick slipped in and out of his manic operatic, he began to recall basic, if disjointed events. He had come to the following conclusion:-

• Some girl was involved.
• He had asked his sort-of-girlfriend to marry him, albeit in a drunken stupor, proceeding an argument and after having asked her what the fuck she was on about, several times.
• He had managed all this on £4.86, given the amount he went out with and the 14 solitary pence in his pocket.
• None of this had seen especially out of the ordinary of the people who had been buying him drinks.
• Neither Matt nor Ben had bought him a drink, or even seen him, since storming out of the party.

It was 3:07pm. Sunday afternoon. Nick woke up with a startle. His head hurt. While most Saturday nights were similar for Nick, this time had been different, this time things with Rachel had gone particularly bad. After all, that's why he had hit the town with quite such gusto. No, this was a drunken binge to end all binges, and the ultimate irony? He didn't have a fucking clue what had happened to him, but he'd find out, eventually. Maybe.