There are many sensible reasons why I should have found it difficult to get out of bed and go to work on Monday. Some of them are as follows:
1. It was cold.
2. It was dark.
3. It was raining.
4. I'd just come back from holiday.
5. The bed was nice and warm.
6. Also, there was a very attractive man in it.
7. My laptop was still broken.
8. I had a thrilling article to write about internal helpdesk systems for banks.
However, none of these things was going to prevent me from springing from the bed at 6am like a newborn gazelle and embracing the promise and joy of the first day back at work. Oh no. But I hadn't really bargained for reason number nine:
9. Fear of zombies.
I probably shouldn't have watched the first twenty minutes of 28 Days Later on Sunday evening. Then I wouldn't have spent the whole of Sunday night having terrible dreams about being chased across Turnham Green by the living dead and (as if that wasn't scary enough!) divebombed by zombie lapwings.
By the time the alarm went off I was still terrified, and refused to leave the flat before it got light, lest I be pursued along Chiswick High Road by shuffling yummy mummies and their undead tots.
Tonight I shall watch Season Two of the O.C., and pray that I don't have dreadful nightmares about being hounded by hordes of skinny comic book geeks sporting faintly subversive indie-band t-shirts.
Although, on second thoughts, that might not be so terribly bad...