"Feckin hairy japanese bastards"

became an oft-used quote over the weekend.

The following is a sort of summary of what I can remember.

Two work-jaded Irish eejits, Jumper & Fletch on Friday in the Gabbot, then the White House (poor Hazel) to meet up with their housemates, then repairing to the house to drink.

Much beer consumed.

Saturday morning, Neil delivers beer to me and the drinking starts at 8:30 am. Hard to beat. Oh, and it turns out that Neilo has invited the ex-gf</very old abbreviation> up to Surrey in his drunken haze of the previous night. Which was actually all fine, as the craic was very good.

Already a little drunk, I book the bowling alley for noon at about 10:30. Taxi journey over, horrified to learn that the bar was closed (thereby defeating half the purpose of playing), but we soldiered on. Badly. Not a finest hour for the ten-pinned game, there. Thence back into town, this time to the Weyside. A quick phonecall to the TUP reveals that they can indeed show the Northern Ireland game. YaHO! The Noise of Win! So we head up there as I'm giving directions to a slightly bemused Emma for the Park and Ride. Poor woman... At the TUP, it seems that the French barman is prepared to put absolutely anything on the TV for us. Unfortunately, he couldn't find the channel where Northern Ireland were actually winning, as we ended up seeing them crushed 3-0 by the Poles. In the middle of all this, herself arrives and I end up on the phone to Lord</not that kind> Ben, who — in hi — s words — is off to Nerdsville soon and was packing for the "added indignity" of the summer school in Leicester first. Very funny...

After this, things begin to go slightly downhill. Having argued for the past 24 hours about the various merits of TGI Fridays, I decided that we should resolve the situation by actually eating there. With the waitress who takes over half-way through the meal and looks like Boy George. Is that an insult? I don't know... And suddenly there are cocktails involved. FBI, then something else with Midori in it. Both very nice, don't get me wrong, but I think they contributed to the monumental (and temporary — how handy!) hangover of Sunday morning. And this is where it gets especially fuzzy... I think it was on Saturday Hazel (off of the White House shift) and Fraser join us in the house for much beer. But I can't be sure. AH! No, it must've been, because I ended up passing out (characteristically) on the floor in front of the sofa (uncharacteristically), waking at 6am on Sunday, and realising that none of the four other people who had formerly been in the room with me were still in the room with me. Genius. The TV was blaring away, of course. I just went up to my bed with a pint of water and fell straight to sleep.

Neilo and herself slept right through the daily 8 o'clock apocalypse, as did I. The morning is a slightly hazy recollection, it being the second hangover on the trot. This was rectumfied with some of the Kronenbourg that was bought the previous evening in the Unwins, on the way back home from the TGI's, via herself's car. Anyway, we're sat there, with the two eejits back on the beer and Neil's lady very wisely sticking to tea, as she'd to drive later on, watching Allo Allo, and Neilo and meself are nearly wetting ourselves at what — at the time — appeared to be the cleverest and funniest jokes ever written!

Needing some sort of sustenance drove us up the hill to the Three Pigeons</unattended>, home of the Breakfast Bap — a truly great invention. Couldn't quite finish it, but we stayed for a little while afterwards with the Sunday tabloids. Thence to the White House so we could sit outside. And that was where the changing of the guard happened. DrAbi came down the hill for a wee rattle and briefly overlapped with the weekend visitors, before Neilo and Emma made their excuses and left for the Big Shmoke.

So DrAbi and I decided to head for the Brit and enjoy some beer and pool. Made plans to go to Spanish lessons, and to possibly holiday in Madeira. We couldn't get a game of pool, as all the tables (particularly the outside one behind us) were all taken up. So we went back to the much-feared Asolat for a game, then drinks outside. And a lot of soul-bearing chat on my part. A little bit too much, I think, because I was by now a) drunk and b) tired, which sometimes leads to c) being morose. And DrAbi had to wrench the conversation away from the very private direction it had had in the pub to other things when H&F arrived in the house for more drinks. Don't remember anything past a brief image of drinking in the house with them again.

This morning was very, very painful. Slept in, but managed to get my order for dinner placed with Herself (not to be confused with the ex-gf), and spent a large portion of the early afternoon trying not to be sick.

Now it's hometime. Thanks.