Everything. Hurts.
Well bend me backwards with a pencil case and call me Timlinson III Duke of West Bromley. A good few days has been had by all. I suspect it all began on Thursday when I met up with Dan for a few drinks and a bit of football watchage. Following our resounding victory it clearly became *the law* to get so utterly and comprehensively inebrated we urinated ourselves. We managed to successfully trojan our way through the former, but sadly neither of us managed to wet wet our pants. which in retrospect I am rather thankful for. No idea what happened after that, next thing I remember is being in the pub again on Friday night. Fairly bog standard evening, with the exception of coming scarily close to engaging in hand to hand combat with a bouncer. Damned fool took offense at almost having his shoes pissed on. Fortunately I was in the company of lesser drunk types who managed to console the happy fellow before he went feral on my ass. Needless to say we were refused entry.
Next memory: Saturday morning. My brain feels like it's bleeding out my ears. Massive emotional scarring concerning the contents of an ill-advised kebab. But i need to buy a suit. Managed that without much fuss, even though i had to tolerate the clearly disgusted looks of horror from the Moss Bros staff when i wandered into their shop wearing torn jeans, a vomit stained Scotland rugby shirt and my slippers. I don't understand my reasoning behind my decision to go with the more 'normal' choice of the shoe, but they were very comfy. Then another night of abuse of replacable internal organs. Ever noticed liver is revil? That's *almost* revel, suggesting it has been placed there for the sole purpose of providing us with entertainment. but i digress.
Bought a father's day card on Sunday morning feeling possibly more rough than the previous day, but left it in the pub when i met up with Gemma, Andy & Katie. Dammit. A few hours later and i'm arriving in London on the train. I really don't know how or why this happened, but before i know it i'm wandering around Kingston with Carlos, Magus and Pesci. "Let us partake of a swift half in one of the fine local taverna!" thought we. The Sunday selling laws had other plans. Half the places were closed. Fair enough. We were refused at one cos Pesci was in shorts, another cos they didn't allow trainers, another had just stopped selling as we arrived and the final place ID'd us. Not usually a problem, but I've managed to lose both my passport *and* drivers license. So we bundle into Pesci's car and start cruising about attempting to formulate some sort of strategy. We came scarilly close to driving to
psyks house, but sadly that idea was discarded. After a wee bit of aimless driving Carlos spots an open offy! Hmm, it's 11.20 on a Sunday. They won't be selling booze will they :( Yet as it happens the friendly yeoman of the store didn't really seem all that bothered by the law. Score. So armed with vodka, beer and coke we try and find a suitable location to comsume our hard-earned purchases. The local park bench it is then. We'd forgotten how satisfying it was to do this. Tramps and fifteen year olds know where it's at. Anyways, drunkeness, holes in fences, porn, bedknobs and anal fisting more or less sums up the night before we collapsed.
Woke up hungover this morning on Magus' floor as a massive great spider crawled across my face. Had some toast, yada yada yada, meeting up with Ivan, sushi in this great little Japanese place we found near Goodge St, i really cannot be arsed to write anymore. When i look at a post this long i instanty lose any will to read, and it's a fairly safe bet a great deal of you are likewise. So on that note i bid thee adieu. Mibbee see some of you in reading at the weekend. No idea if i'm gonna be able to make it though. We'll see.
xxx