Monday night saw the second meeting of the monday night club (MNC), with the brunette and I deciding to switch venues in our pursuit of bargainous wine in one of the most ridiculously priced drinking areas I know. So we ended up in a Wetherspoons. Anywhere that you can get a decent bottle of rose for £7.49, which still a week from pay day I could just about manage, seems like a winner to me. And the food's alright. I mean it's not brilliant, but if you're there and you're drinking then it hits the spot, and there's a healthy range of condiments in handy snack packs too (I do pinch a few, but not on the scale of the goody bags that the birthday girl and I wandered off with at the half marathon - btw 2hrs, 29m, well done dizzy! - or anything like that). One tip though, the sticky toffee pudding is to die for. Seriously. One bottle led to another, as they do, and I cried off a third much to the brunette's disgust.
The next morning I woke up early to get some healthy swimming in with a bit of a thick head. This would explain how I managed to get a couple of minutes down the road before realising that the reason I couldn't see the people at the bus stop was not because miraculously there weren't any, I just didn't have my glasses on. I skipped back home and began the day again. I shouldn't have bothered. I should have got back into bed and written the day off as all manner of calamaties came my way: choking on a mid-morning carrot, burning my finger on a cup-a-soup (tomato and basil, flavour-fans) and then soaking myself with cold water when attempting to get a glass of water. It was only when the man who can pointed out that, although not a friday, it was indeed the 13th of the month that it all started to make sense and so I headed for the hills. Or rather my flat and an early night.
The next night the birthday girl was on a work trip in town and we met up and headed east to a gymnastics competition, where we were almost trampled under foot by hordes of mini-gymettes and tried to stifle giggles when the unfortunate contestants fell off their aparatus. Cruel I know, but funny...
At about 4pm on friday, I was sitting happily at my desk when one of the guys I used to work with mentioned that some others in my old team were in the local, just for a couple you understand. So I packed up and skipped down to join them. One vodka led to another and another, and then there was cider involved, and then, horror of horrors, there was karaoke. I don't remember volunteering to get up and sing/screech with the girls, but there's video floating around on an iPhone somewhere which would suggest the opposite (btw - I saw it on monday morning and it all came flooding back), and the hurty head on the saturday confirmed it.
So saturday should have been spent on the sofa recuperating after the week, but instead the birthday girl and dizzy hit the town, and with our raging hangovers in tow, we spent the day celebrating the birthday of dizzy's bgff in the rainbow part of the city by eating burgers, drinking milkshakes and vodka (not together, although it may have been an option), and checking out the guys who were so not interested in us. By 8, the week was starting to catch up with us, and so birthday girl and I headed back to mine where we watched TV and cheered on the x-factor looky-likey's looky likey. He's doing well, keep those fingers crossed...
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