Urgh, hangovers. Someone explain to me why something as brilliant as alcohol has such horrible side effects the morning after. Doesn't seem fair, does it. I'm blaming this entirely on Michael and Tony. Yes, it's all their faults.
To take my mind off my utter and total misery, I've been reading through a book of famous quotations I found in Granddad's study. I found one that I thought was particularly fitting given my line of work:
Although personally I am quite content with existing explosives, I feel we must not stand in the path of improvement. - Winston Churchill
Granddad, however, didn't find it (or my hangover) remotely amusing and has punished me by setting an essay on safety in Curse Breaking for Monday. Can you tell he was a Ravenclaw in a former life? Remind me why I thought it a good idea to ask him to Apprentice me for the year? I should have taken my chances at the Ministry.
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