If all the worlds a stage.......It left town before I got on. Chapter 1

It must be morning. The light penetrating the eyelids confirmed what my headache was telling me. I had drunk way to much last night and hadn’t shut the curtains before climbing into be……………d. How come when I’m breathing in, I can hear my breath coming out? Not prepared to open my eyelids and allow the sun to assault my retinas, further exacerbating the pain in my already pounding head. I move my leg backwards from the foetal position I’m curled in. Exploring with my toes I touch what feels like a stubbly leg. A cold clammy stubbly leg at that.
My mind rewinds to the last coherent point of the previous evening. Remembered embarrassingly as the point I threw up my dinner, coupled with lager and sambucca shots in the back of the taxi. I screw up my eyelids and relive being ejected by the driver into the cold wind and driving rain of the early morning, then walking the mile home. Alone.
Who the hell is in my bed?
Moving slowly onto my back I turn my head, crack one eyelid a fraction. The image appears behind eyelashes as if being viewed through reeds. I shut that eye quickly and crack the other. Feeling the need for the other eye to confirm the scene to my brain. As if viewing the scene through only one eye will make it half as bad.
I bring both hands to my face and rub the sleep from my eyes vigorously, opening them and focussing them on the face, apparently asleep in front of me. With my head pounding I look at the swollen right blue black eye, split lip and the congealed blood from a cut on the forehead that had run into the mop of bleached blonde hair. The face lined not from laughter but years of hardship looked undernourished. The radio alarm breaks into my thoughts, the dulcet tones of the righteous brothers. I sing along with a wry smile,