I Never Drink... Wine.

Yo yo yo. I know what you're thinking - "Where the bloody hell have you been!?", "Who even is this guy!?", "Why am I reading this!?", "Where is my coffee!?" and "How does this guy know what I'm thinking!?". Well, the answers to all those questions and more will be revealed - maybe not in this post and maybe not by me, but no doubt at some point through the natural passing of time.

Anyway - let's get up to speed. I seem to have left off last Thursday (Jan 29th) with a hefty hangover and an intriguing story about a young man's quest for good jeans. The events that transpired since then are as follows...

Friday (Jan 30th): Well, it was a Friday - that puts all my actions into perspective. People can do no wrong on a Friday; unless it's your boss giving you a massive amount of work just before you leave, a lingering customer in your store who entered 5 minutes before closing time or you're a rather prudish young man by the name of Jason and your at an American summer camp full of raunchy teens. Come to think of it though, I was pretty well behaved on Friday.

I hung out with my student friends and, after successfully avoiding drinking anything too horrible during the drinking games at their house, hit the town. Town was entertaining. Most of us failed to enter the club as the queue was slow and long, so we sacked it off and went into a nearby Lloyds, which can't quite decide if it's a pub/bar/club. Times were good, I met nice people and managed to replace Sambuca shots with Tequila.

All in all, a resounding success. I got home at about 4am-ish, made myself a sandwich with salad (after walking past the kebab shop - well pleased with that) and then fell asleep. Woke up 6 hours later on...

Saturday (Jan 31st - unsurprisingly): Fortunately my hangover was mild and easily fixable. This came as quite a surprise given how my hangovers usually turn out these days. I was due to get myself up to Leeds for my friend's birthday do; so my lack of hangover was paramount to the day's success. I had everything in hand, right up until the point where I realised that I had confused my friends address with a place just outside of Nottingham and had to re-plan my entire route. Upon checking the train times I realised that if I was to get to this party on time I had only 40 minutes to get up, get ready and get to my train. This is pretty typical for my level of planning as those of you who know me well will know. Somehow I always seem to leave myself no time to do anything. Needless to say I readied myself at lightning pace and raced over to my train, just making it in time.

I met my friends in Leeds, who I hadn't seen since summer in Japan (when I met them actually) and they introduced me to their friends and there was much rejoicing. We went to the trendiest curry house in the world. It was great - it looked like the sort of curry restaurant you'd expect the Jetsons to frequent. However, I do think that having a curry house furnished solely in a white minimalist style is very optimistic. They clearly place more faith in my eating abilities than I.

Afterwards we went to a club called Fab Cafe - one of a chain of clubs that some of you may be aware of. It was really fun and there was, again, much rejoicing. However this time there was no escaping the dreaded Sambuca shots.

Events rolled into one another - like drunk people on a dance floor - and before you could say "Oh God no, it's Sunday"; it was...

Sunday (Feb 1st - you see the pattern emerging): This day greeted me under the guise of a lovely normal Sunday, free of burden or responsibility. After a morning of reading Empire and dilly-dallying, it suddenly dawned on me that I only had one possible train to catch home [Ed. "Good old UK Sunday train service"] and I had very little time to get from my friend's house to the station.

I very rapidly and briefly made my goodbyes before shooting off to the bus stop, only to find that I had missed the bus by 3 minutes and the next one would be along 10 minutes after my train departed. I began to contemplate how once again I'd failed at one of life's simple tasks and the possible consequences of this, when just at that moment a white miracle taxi appeared over the horizon (well - from round the bend). I hailed said cab and bid him take me to the train station as fast as his little wheels [Ed. "Perfectly normal sized wheels"] would take me. As we pulled up I handed over a wad of cash and told him to keep the change. I then ran like a late-person-with-long-legs to my train and jumped on just as the doors were closing for an amazing photo finish. I was incredibly pleased that, assuming this was the right train, I'd managed to get away with being utterly useless and not really suffering much for it.

I finally got home, where the weekend's collective 8 hours sleep and vast quantity of toxins caught up with me. I had a roast dinner, then died in my room. So ends another great weekend.

Well, that covers last weekend (just in time for this one). I will cover what I got up to during the week in-between in another post - maybe tomorrow. Right now I have to get back to bed and finish watching Dracula, as I fell asleep watching it earlier. It's a tough one to watch when tired - hence why I've never managed to get through it before.

I shall leave you with a classic tune that's always worthy of a listen...

DJ Shadow - Blood on the motorway

The Plan

Hmm I'm not really sure what I was talking about there. Based on the events that transpired subsequent to that last post, I can only assume that my plan was as follows:

1. Go to bed smirking with an undue sense of optimism about the next 24 hours.
2. Awake to a sensation I can only describe as "Ugh.... please no."
3. Provide yet more evidence that my mother's disappointment in me is well founded and receive the 'burning the candle at both ends' talk.
4. Go to work wishing I was dead, feeling very dehydrated with red eyes and no doubt smelling like a tramp. [Ed. "Tramps may well be loveable rogues, but they smell like ass."]
5. Spend my day with my head in my hands while parts of my brain implode.
6. Return home and don dressing gown.

If this was indeed my plan, as mentioned last night while very inebriated, then I'd say that it was a resounding success and that I am a master tactician. Then again, we all knew that already.

The day has not been without its highlights though. For starters, I'm not dead - despite praying to every God I could think of for the sweet release of my head actually falling clean off my shoulders. I can scarcely imagine the excitement - if indeed that's the right word - that my spontaneous head displacement would cause in the office. Secondly, I'm now home and can proceed to spend the rest of my evening in bed chillin' like a villain.

Another highlight is thanks to my mother's keen negotiation skills. This merits a new paragraph, as it needs explaining. While getting ready to go to the house party last night (I was 20 minutes late in the end - not bad by my standards), I decided to wear my new jeans that I picked up in Debenhams the other day. My previous favourite pair have become subject to many holes over the course of time, but they've now developed a rather unfortunate crotch window that has consequently rendered them ill-advised evening wear; especially in these cold winter months. I therefore set out to find a new pair of jeans that were as close as possible in style to my previous favourites. Luckily the Sonneti section of Debenhams was able to furnish me with exactly what I wanted, much to my surprise. On a quick side note, after checking the Debenhams website, I am displeased to see that said jeans have dropped down by £9 in the 5 days since I purchased them - oh well. Anyway, [Ed. "This has become an incredibly long, drawn out paragraph for a not very interesting story."] last night I was about to put on the aforementioned jeans when I noticed that the shop assistant had left the ink-filled security tag still attached to the jeans - as such I was unable to wear them for the evening. My mum took them back to Debenhams today, while I was at work, to have the security tag removed and managed to walk away with a compensatory £5 voucher. Therefore I think I'll treat myself to a nice t-shirt or something from there on Saturday.

Right, the time has come, the walrus said - I'm off to sit in bed and watch telly while my brain shrinks like an old balloon. I'll leave you all to amuse yourselves in whatever debauched manner seems fit to you. Alternatively, you can listen to this song:

Adele - Hometown (Axwell Remode Remix]

It's making me feel ready to throw some shapes on Friday night already.

Milk 2

We never get old. I have a plan. I feel sick. BUT I have a plan. Will explain later.