The alarm had already gone off twice. Time, he supposed, to get up.
Felt awful. Head fuzzy. Tongue tasted of asparagus. Also possibly fuzzy. Would have thought he had a hangover. The thought provoked, if not a smile, then at least the right frame of mind for smiling.
Something to wake him up, that was the ticket. A peppy drink. Ambrosia? Meh. Perhaps the mortals had come up with something interesting. He peered out the window, looking down at his world.
“Oh, stuff me,” he muttered after a long, appalled silence.
He went back to bed. Another millennium, at least.
The Shoveller Of Widdecombe Ditch (Trad.)
11 hours ago