Badhead, by Blur

Sunday morning (or evening, I don't know), I'm waking up. French horns pumping inside my head. October, 2001. The first of many disenchantments to come. Why did I have to tell her that I was in love with her? She said that we could still be friends. Yeah, right. As if that would be enough for me. She didn't understand back then how bad she did to me. I was completely drunk when I told her everything. Few minutes later I was wasted. The last time I saw my watch, it was around three o'clock in the morning. I decided I should step out of the party. She saw me leaving, she didn't say a thing, didn't try to stop me. As if I had cared. I walked and walked. I sat down outside a Seven Eleven. Several patrols passed by, but not a single cop asked me anything. Strange. I've been on the street at five o'clock in the afternoon and they had asked me for my IDs. Around six in the morning I ran into a friend who walked me home and hugged me, repeating: "Don't worry". I woke up and played at maximum volume "Badhead" by Blur. "So far, I've not really stayed in touch. Well, you know as much, it's no surprise that today I'll get up around two with nothing to do except to get a touch of flu". I wished I had the flu, but no, it was only "a badhead in the morning" and the bad taste of tobacco and booze mixed up with rage. In the Parklife booklet, beside the lyrics for the song there's this photo from The Graduate.