Back to Bedlam

It's been a real whirlwind few days. Until today, at any rate!

After the Boxing Day visit to Belfast, I laid low for a couple of days. Needed sleep, basically.

Then came the flight home to England. All fine with the flight, then landed at Gatwick and got a lift home from Lord Simon. Which basically turned into a massive bender. I'd promised to go out clubbing with him when I got back, so I ironed a clean shirt and we went down the road to meet his husband. Via Ibiza Street. I was nearly on for staying there all night, but we had three in there, went up the road, via the old reliable star, to the KH where the Aussie was standing with three of the work ones. Including my current crush. Feck. But myself and the evil twin were already in sex-pesting mode, so I couldn't keep my eyes in one place for very long. Plus, we were already significantly drunker than any of the rest of them, as they were all driving. Blunderously.

Still, we stayed on and chatted. Then, about midnight, the Aussie cut the Eenglish loose and told us to execute our plan. Uh-oh...

I have to say that I remember going in alright, and remember various flashes of having a wazz, ordering dhrink, talking about shite — some serious, some not — and generally pesting in tandem. And all the usual consequences, so I felt dreadful the next day. But the craic was good, even if my head felt a little wrecked.

Basically, I'd had a pretty clear head when I left Norn Iron, after having had a week away from everything and everyone — both good and bad — in Ingerland.

and we actually went to one of Guildford's two offerings.