TO look at the inhabitants of my house this morning, one could be forgiven for thinking there's been a Carbon Monoxide leak and I was the only one lucky enough to grab a gas mask.
Downstairs is Kielers, comatose in the living room, clutching the couch as if he expects to be flung clear at any point.
Afroman, who in fairness made it to his bed before collapsing, is not a picture of health either. Lying over the sheets on his bed, fully clothed with his arms and legs spread out as wide as possible, he looks like a cadaver waiting to be disected by a class of med students. The only sign of life is a just about noticeable tear creeping slowly down his cheek.
The Grief has done one better than the two sleeping beauties by going outside for a walk. However, his hangover has taken the form of liberal helpings of 'What am I doing with my life?' sentiments and the purpose of his stroll is to have an agonising rethink on what it's all about, possibly the worse sentence of the three.
And me? Having stayed in last night, I'm just sitting here enjoying the carnage and my imperviousness to it. Not wanting to crawl into a hole and die also means that I have the energy to put up a few pictures of my trip last weekend to Stanley Park, a 1,000 acre "evergreen oasis" located just outside Vancouver city centre.
It's not quite on the same pegging as People's Park but was fun nonetheless.