Lying in

We were supposed to report to the Household Cavalry barracks in west London at 8.45 but didn’t wake up, in south London, with a crucifying hangover, till nine. I’d been sick in the taxi on the way home, and when I went to put on my suit found that a good deal of it was still stuck to the left leg of my suit trousers. Which made us later still.

We’d been invited to a parade and lunch as a thank-you to The Spectator for sending free copies of the magazine to the regiment the last time they were in Bosnia. I knew it was always going to be a struggle getting to Hyde Park for 8.45. Really we shouldn’t have stayed out so late and drank so much the night before. But as an ex-council worker with a long-term service medal, I’d judged that the Army and the town council were probably similar, in that getting there on time was the main thing.