You brave the walk home and the disapproving looks from those who think, wrongly, that you have been up to no good which isn't a good start to any Sunday. Take a couple of headache tablets, change out of last nights clothes into your way more comfy pyjamas and drink that cup of tea that you had been fantasising about. Thank god that you have the whole day to sit on the sofa, not wash, watch rubbish TV and eat bad food.
Well what happened next really put a spanner in the works of my perfect Sunday plan.
Just as I was teetering on the cusp of a nice little nap my mate calls and says she's on her way over. Fine. Everyone likes some company. Especially when they are in the same hungover state as you. Maybe she would even cook for me or bring me a nice greasy treat like she normally did- lovely.
Now I live in the top floor flat and more often than not my paranoid neighbours downstairs like to double lock the front door. In the event of this, which happens way too much for my liking, whoever is unfortunate enough to answer the buzzer has to leave the comfort and warmth of the flat and go downstairs to let the caller in. It's an inconvenience.
Well, on this fateful Sunday, I was distracted by way too many things going on at once. I was hungover, had just kind of been dreaming (about food unsurprisingly), my friend was on the phone to me for last nights gossip and my other mate was at the door. Even for a highly capable woman - that is some serious multi-tasking.
I ran down the stairs to let her in and predictably, I forgot to put the door on the latch. As I was just out of reaching distance to stop the door closing, I realised my fatal error and flung my whole body back up the stairs and in the direction of the door. I was too late, the door clicked shut. Hitting the door at that speed really hurt.
I was locked out. In my pyjamas. And no shoes. Brilliant.
Needless to say what followed was a series of expletives that even I didn't know existed in my vocabulary and which, I can assure you, were not appropriate for God's day or for the neighbours in the next door flat who have a little baby. At that stage though, I didn't care.
Annoyingly, both my flat mates were out for the duration of the day doing some annoying male activity which involved going to Surrey and hitting balls around a field for an amount of hours that I just can't comprehend. Basically, I was not getting let in for a while.
Did I mention that I was in pyjamas.
We contemplated scaling the wall outside and breaking in to my flat mates room but the expense of repairing the damage was a concern. Apparently my other housemate had once shimmied up the drain pipe to the third floor window to gain entry but there was no way I was doing that. It would have ended in tears.
I instructed my mate to go back to her flat, pick me up some clothes and shoes and then come back and get me. She refused as she clearly found it amusing and thought that no-one in Brixton would care if I walked the street in PJ's and bare feet. It's a very valid point. I've seen much weirder.
So that's how I came to be walking down Brixton's busiest street in my bright green leopard print pyjama bottoms, bare feet, a vest top that is old and too big and my mates ultra stylish leather jacket. Not a look I hope to repeat again in the near future.
For those of you who care. I finally got back into my house at 10pm. Not ideal.