A night on the town

A few weeks back I regaled you with the tale of how I got a little bit tiddily for the first time in, um, MANY years. As you may recall, the only dampener on an otherwise fine evening was the fact that I was suffering from THE COUGH THAT WOULD NOT GO AWAY, and my brilliant and hilarious friends kept making me laugh, which in turn kept making me cough, which in turn probably made them laugh at my plight.

It was a vicious, vicious circle, dear reader.

Anyway, having long since recovered from the vile cough, the subject of getting me drunk was raised again recently, and like a lamb to the slaughter seeing as I'm always up for a good time I clapped my hands and a plan was made to go out for drinks in London one Saturday evening.

And then on the day I suddenly discovered that Central London was going to be the site of a mass demonstration.

"You're going up to London? Today?" Asked my Nan when I told her what my plans for the evening were. "I wouldn't bother."

But bother I did. Eventually, because like the doofus I am I missed not one but two trains while I did my hair sorted some important stuff out.

So, an hour later than scheduled I found myself in a nice subterranean bar with Glittering Lee, Skip, and the lovely Ryan, sipping a fruity cocktail while a handful of miles away the Police tussled with angry balaclava'd protestors. On the subject of drinks, yes it does seem that I have a somewhat unusual taste in alcoholic beverages for a straight man, but good lord, if you'd tried that raspberry cocktail I'm pretty sure you would've pledged to give up Diamond White and/or meths in a shot. I did not, however, sample Lee's cocktail when it was offered to me, based purely on the fact that he described it as tasting somewhat like "unwashed cock."

A short time later, and for reasons I cannot quite remember because things were spinning somewhat delightfully by this point, we decided to decamp to the lovely Drink, Shop & Do on Caledonian Road. En route, adding to his tally of beating me while I'm drunk, Skip punched me in the stomach; like the previous occasion when he punched me in the head, neither of us can recall quite why he felt inclined to lash out at me so violently, but I'm assured it was done with affection.

Drink, Shop & Do was quieter than I've ever seen it because they didn't have a 'Do' on that evening, so we just got some drinks in and got snippy with one another in an affectionate fashion. Here, I combined my love of coffee with my newfound appreciation of sophisticated cocktails by ordering an espresso martini which BLEW MY TINY MIND. Once that was knocked back, we decided to decamp once again.

Things get a smidgeon blurry around here, because all I can recall is a hurried walk around St. Pancras station in search of an open branch of Marks and Spencers where pizza and more booze were purchased, and I seriously considered buying a delightful looking chocolate Easter chick. The whole thing reminded me of that brilliant eighties film 'Adventures in Babysitting.'

A short time later we were ensconced in Skip's house watching episodes of Better off Ted, which as I've mentioned before is brilliant and you really should be watching it.

By about 23:20, however, little ol' drunken me had a dilemma: wobble my way to the tube station and zip across town to catch the last train home or … stay at Skip's. Under normal, sober circumstances I would've been, well, running it a little bit close if I'm honest - so after factoring in additional wobble-time I poked Skip in the arm (note 'POKED' not 'PUNCHED') and asked if I could steal his spare room for the night.

Which leads me to the most memorable moment of the evening when Lee and Ryan decided to call it a night and Ryan innocently asked if I was going to crash at their place. When told I was staying at Skip's he turned, looked me in the eye and said "I can't believe you're staying here - will you be alright?!" as if he genuinely feared for my life.

To which Lee replied "he'll be fine - just wedge a chair under the door."

And then they were gone.

Of course, I was fine, because Skip's a lovely chap and his spare room was awesome. I fell asleep to the distant sound of Police sirens as the Met's finest mopped up the last of the protestors.

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I awoke Sunday morning surprisingly early, and somewhat amazingly with a distinct lack of a hangover (although when you're paying £7.50 per drink I think that's as it should be). Skip was already up and around and made me coffee (such a genial host), and after a couple of hours chatting I decided to make my way through town and head home.

Sunday London

It was a brilliant weekend, and it seems Ryan really didn't have anything to worry about when he and Lee left me alone in Skip's care because so far no pictures of me asleep in my pants have turned up on Facebook. BONUS.