Is it meself?!: May 2006

There's something about the Mayday bank holiday weekend^*

This year's took the following form:

Friday night, I got home about 7:00, having eschewed the idea of the gym in favour of getting a bottle of wine, and fully expecting to find the two lords on their way out of the house. They almost were. The fact that I was blatantly in the mood for a drink meant that I only said "no" to them twice when they asked me to join them for dinner at Old Orleans. Then, I caved.
We got there, after a quick car-based detour to the offy at the bottom of the road to get spiritual supplies for the post-pub time, and asked the nice man to reserve us a table in the name of "john" (apparently lots of people to this on a first-name basis. I worried that LS had used a fake name because he wanted to get up to some badness.) We sat outside, The Aussie browsing the menu and LS and I perving around (it had, after all been the first full five-day week in nearly a month, so there was a lot of R&R to make up for!), until "John"'s table for three was announced and we got seated in a booth at the back of the restaurant (I think LS's picture has probably been circulated around all the establishments in Guildford by now).
LS was in typical buoyant mood, and they'd clearly decided to keep the rest of the customers away from us, as the table behind me was moved as soon as the current occupants were finished. Still, the craic was very good, and we were all in very good form -- probably the first time that's happened for a while. It was no coincidence that it was payday for me and LS, and that the Aussie had been paid the day before (hardly ever happens that close together). The Aussie could tell me and LS were in the mood for a rip, so promptly ordered a jug of Long Island Ice Tea while we us remaining eejits busied ourselves with some beer (in my case, Corona) and pish (Budweiser for LS, who doesn't drink beer).
But you can't begin to imagine the look of joy on LS's face, and the look of horror on the Aussie's, when we discovered the crayons and the drawing-paper table cloth! Having only ever nipped in to Old Orleans for a post-cinema snifter (usually non-alcoholic, too), I had no idea that this was a service they offered. Territorial crayon-drawing promptly commenced, with OCD-boy drawing places for everything: knives, forks, glasses, bottles, empty bottles, ... Then a drawing of Oz by the Aussie, for a game of guess where the fuck everything is in Australia. (Apparently, Croydon Hills is a city. I disputed this, but not vocally.) After LS calmed down, on request, he got some more drawing paper for to amuse ourselves. Which was great, as we'd had enough jars by the time the main course came that we weren't actually hungry.
After all this, we adjourned to the bar, where I bought round 1. This was despite the Aussie's protests, who was protesting largely because he'd had a jug of L.I.I.T., much of it on an empty stomach. Eejit. :oD So, once he'd put that away, he made his excuses and left me and LS to the drinking for which we were so obviously geared up.
This involved a lot of drinking. Starting with large measures (my fault), then ramping up to the Killer Drink of Doom (gin, JD and Coke), and finally ending with a lot of bar staff (and a few remaining other people) being entertained by LS's antics, which were clearly designed to attract the attention of the extremely cute (and fit) blond barman who I'd been pesting over since we walked into the place. (I'll come back to that point in a bit). Oh yeah, the final drink was a Smirnoff Ice with a red Aftershock in it, to be downed from the neck with the aid of a pressure-release bendy straw poking out the side. I made a messy but successful attempt, all the while being abused by LS that this wasn't the right way to do it (although the bar staff all disagreed, pointing out my success as disproof). Then he proceeded to do exactly the same as me. Very funny. This was after the politically incorrect jokes had been passed around, of course.
I'm out of sync here, slightly, because I'd rung the Essex Boy before the Smirnoff Ice 'n' Aftershock incident. I sat over on the sofa, well away from LS at the bar (who was by that stage at peak volume) to make the call. Eventually I got called over to pay for a round as he was too fucked to enter his PIN (well done, Chip'n'Pin people!), at which point I handed EB over to LS. LS then proceeded to pass my phone over to one of the bar staff, and I got very worried. EB wasn't amused, it turns out. Anyway...
As LS had downed his SIA combo in record time, and one of the staff had videoed it on his own phone, I tried to Bluetooth the video to my phone for keepsake reasons. This failed (full memory on my part). Anyway, LS handed me his phone to try bluetoothing it onto it instead (as he couldn't type -- see above). While I was furiously, but vainly, trying to do better, he kept calling to me to hand it back. I didn't, as I was determined not to be beaten by the technology (even Nokia's evil interface). This was a key moment. It turns out he'd persuaded cute barman boy to give him his number (no challenge too straight). Me not handing over phone = no phone number entered = no phone number got = extremely angry drunk pesting buddy. BF not an issue in these matters -- it seems a point of principle. He got the MAJOR fucking hump (no irony intended), and stormed off. I tried to calm him down, but he was raging. I got fucked off and didn't fancy any more of that shite, and went to walk home. Then, got pissed off and thought: 'naw! That's exactly what he wants me to do, so fuck that!', and proceeded to try and track him down. Hadn't far to go, as he was staring at his phone outside the VL. With him still in a mood, we tried to get into The Drink. They ostensibly turned us away because of our trainers. In reality it was probably because we couldn't see. Very wise. Thus, the last refuge of the man who doesn't mind overpriced beer was chosen, and we wandered in.
LS noticed someone rather nicely built who he recognised, which was handy as it avoided him speaking to me. Next thing I remember, yer man is kicking off because LS has apparently tried to plant a friendly gesture on his face. I then spend the next ten mins (approx?) trying to calm him down, and reminding him how much he thought LS was a jolly good egg (not in so many words) until oh so very recently. This seemed to buy us enough time to get out, which is exactly the direction I pointed LS in once he looked all wounded and realised something had gone sour.
After that, nada. I only know we got back at separate times. And that I probably told him to fuck off at the bottom of the main road. He last remembers realising that he'd walked up the road and then ended up walking down it for some reason (my guess: because it was easier).

Saturday had been deemed London Day. But the previous night's drinking and the natural evolution of plans involving the two lords modified all that. I'd had a hurcut on Friday, but the two lords were up and about at 9:00 as they needed to head into town for that very reason. I texted LS with the message "Balls. Don't remember getting home. Do you?" To make sure I was actually awake he decided to hop into my room, announcing he was going to do to me exactly what he'd done to the Aussie (careful now), and promptly jumped onto me in bed. The poor spine of my bed didn't know what had hit it (answer: an 86-kilo man in shorts at high speed). After I finally dislodged him from my shattered sleeping apparatus, I examined the destruction and exiled the two of them -- the Aussie was guilty by either association or cause-and-effect, haven't quite decided -- to their lordy haircuts. I went downstairs fuming that my only task that morning -- sleep -- had been so violently thwarted.
Tried the sofa, then went to the spare room, where I texted my complaint to EB.
I dozed there for an hour or so until they got back, bearing a pineapple (seriously). Then I got a text from Youngest saying she (actually, Forgotten Middle Child) had worked out the theme of all the songs on her birthday iPod. I was very happy and rang her to issue congratulations. Then I passed her over to LS (first time, sober) and then the Aussie (with whom I suspect she'd get on very well), the latter of whom told her a bit too much about the previous night's proceedings, but ah well. She's 21 now and needs to be aware of some of these things.
I pushed for an actual plan to be formed, as the two lords had abandoned doing touristy stuff together that day, pre-dhrink. LS had decided to get a digital SLR camera "on tick" to experiment for his new business idea, and the Aussie wanted to do some ultra-lordy shopping in London, unhindered. Hence, LS went home, the Aussie went to London, I grabbed a shower and change of clothes, LS returned and promptly lay down at the top of the landing, unshowered, unmotivated and deeply unhelpful to my plans for getting things to dress to impress EB with the next day. Eventually, after I'd put my clothes out on the line to dry (rock'n'roll, kids) he went and got washed. Then we drove into town, I did some express shopping, via a half-hour stint in the camera shop while he got his Nikon wet dream, and a trip to Debenhams fer me to get some smelly stuff. Then, Burger King, a half-hour chill in the house, and we headed up to meet the Aussie in the Big Shmoke. Once I'd poured us a large measure each to get the day going
And a Smirnoff Ice was had on the way.
Once we got there, I was under instructions to ring EB and confirm time and place, but it was difficult to do in Leicester Square (lots of people around -- very busy, that place...)
Our rendezvous point was the chain pub at the bottom of the square, with the two Nottingham girls (who are officially great craic). This was about 6pm. But even only two lads couldn't get in by themselves. We had to have girls with us (a complaint letter is seriously brewing about this -- about time being a lord got some dividend). So in the end we got A to come out and vouch for the fact that we were to be in a mixed group.
Then the drink was on. The idea, it seemed, was to be in there until about 8, when the two girls were heading over til Chinatown to meet some friends for food, and we were invited. Anyway we had a table (til just after 8) and the craic was ninety. Plus meself and LS had a barman to pest over and annoy, which was very good fer the mood. A's mates were late turning up, but eventually they called to say they were close by and we met them outside the car park in Chinatown.
Things then got decidedly weird. There wasn't a great deal of explanation as to who we were meeting, and when we did meet them, I assumed we'd bumped into some randoms as they were Chinese by parentage. Also, I was nicely toasted by this stage. We followed A into a restaurant, where we got a table fer 10 upstairs. LS then whinged about the strangeness of the food (ironically, given his penchant fer the local Chinese buffet near his house) and I associated the general quiteness with his comments. In retrospect, I don't, as there was a weird mood going on in general. The Chinese-speaking bloke to my immediate right was having none of my conversation, which started to bother me, and the rest of their mates barely spoke. The non-innnocent Aussie later put it down to chemicals (entirely possible). Whatever was going on, it sobered us three eejits up no end. Thinking our last train home was at 9 past midnight, we ate casually until I took the head-staggers and checked on the mobile internet. It claimed otherwise, so we finished up (not unhappily on my part), paid for our share at the counter, had a wazz (very important before a later train ride home) and darted for the Watherloo. As it turns out the 00:09 train was our last option, but it was the slow train.
Whether catching the fast one half an hour before was a blessing or not depends on how much you can't stand the smell of vomit in a closed carriage. Ten minutes into the journey, a lad three rows behind our table seat gave everyone pause for this thought. I managed okay, but the Aussie was having very little luck in concentrating on his Indypedia Part 1, although he was convinced an middle-aged man was going to kick off... Anyroad, the craic from everyone around the incident was very good, and we all had our say on the subject. Fortunately it was a fast train, so the agony lasted less than an hour, and there was carpet, not fluid-carrying plastic which would've let everyone's feet have a share. Nice.
There were also rumours that another vomming incident had occurred just beyond the other end of the carriage, as half a dozen late-teenage lads informed us. They'd been trying to escape it when they ran into the smell carnage behind us. Trapped, when we were between Woking and home, they stopped to talk shite with ourselves (i.e. LS noticed them and got chatting).
The audible relief of everyone getting off the train at Guildford was almost deafening. We walked home as fast as we could. LS was off the booze, he'd decided, and the Aussie and I only made a perfunctory dent in the bottle of vodka which had staggeringly survived from the previous night.
After I could see the craic was fizzling out, I went upstairs to the remaining bed in the spare room, and phoned EB. Fer an hour...

Sunday arrived earlier than I was quite ready for, but I switched on the radio on the stereo I'd brought into the spare room and answered the backlog of messages from EB. I avoided the reality of doing anything until about midday by leaving the phone in "I'm asleep" mode. I rang EB, who informed me he'd been up since 7:00 (a.m.... I know...) in a haze of nervous excitement about meeting face-to-face. This did nothing for my levels of calm, but I said I'd get there for mid-afternoon. He then gave me a page's worth of directions on how to get to their local where I could park.
I then abused LS until he made an attempt to fix my bed. This attempt only resulted in showing up the fact that the spine attachment to the bed frame was fucked at both ends: it had just given way at the top earlier.
I had no time for this complication, as I was due to head off to Essex at 2:00, and getting increasingly pissed off with any obstructions, so I instructed LS to come back with some proper tools -- not to try and prop the bed up with just magazines. I'm holding him to this task, incidentally.
Anyway, I showered and shaved, dropped the idea of doing anything metrosexual, ironed my favourite shirt, and made ready to leave. LS and the Aussie kindly donated a pound each for the Dartford crossing as I ironed, while they partook of a bacon sandwich brunch. Eventually, at 14:27, I drove off. Nervous as hell.
The M25 wasn't too bad all the way, and I rang EB from near Reigate to apologise for my shit planning. There were, apparently, a lot of police around, and I wondered if LordStoppers hadn't been tipped off by Neilo (anything's possible). But it turned out they weren't there to arrest him, so I continued with my speedy journey. When I got to Chelmsford on the A12, the first set of directions didn't at all match up with what he'd told me, so that immediately threw me into dad-in-dublin mode: grumpy and anxious. Add to this the ongoing suspicion that EB would run a mile when he saw me in real life (as he pointed out, all my photos make me look different), and I was not a happy camper
After asking two people for directions (the first person was just wrong -- there was no right turn at the roundabout; the second was deranged and left no gaps between his words, so I just gave up on him), I eventually recognised a key phrase on a road sign, and followed it on a hunch. It was a good one, and I was suddenly on track with EB's directions. And very happy. It was approaching 4:00 when I got to the car park, and once I'd stopped I rang him and he said he'd be round in two minutes. Two of the longest minutes of my life, but that's probably no surprise eh? I'd got him to send some pictures of himself by MMS, so I knew what he looked like, but eventually around the corner came this very well dressed guy, with black hair, blond tip highlights, pinstripe jacket checked t-shirt and thin jumper and white trousers that very few people can carry off.
(He told me later that he'd tried strutting on his way over, but it hadn't quite worked and he'd tumbled slightly, to the amusement of some woman walking the same direction as him).
Anyway, being suave and sophisticated, I had an etiquette panic and neither kissed him nor shook his hand: I just nudged him slightly with my left shoulder and said "Nice to meet you, finally!". We crossed the road and went to the pub.
He got us each a drink inside, and we went out to the beer garden, where we slowly got the measure of the pace each other was ready for in the conversation. It got a bit nippy quite soon so we ducked inside in search of heat and found ourselves standing near the door. When a real fitty (as the Aussie would say) walked in in a birthday-dare PVC dress, I made a mental note not to perve. (I was on duty, I realised: this could be tricky!) Besides, I was actually really attracted to who I was talking to. EB is really my type: slim, slightly tanned, and very very cute face. So ignoring distractions wasn't so hard.
After drink number 4, we noticed a free sofa and made a bee-line for it. I'd texted LS and the Aussie both, at various stages as we EB and I had been seat-less, and while he'd been in the gents, to say I thought things were going well but couldn't be sure. When we got sitting down, he seemed to relax a bit and I'd probably calmed down somewhat too. Slowly we got comfy around each other and he started to smile a bit more. I went to the gents and joked by text that I couldn't find a window to crawl out of, as he'd been paranoid that I'd run at the first chance I got (same for you, I thought), and when I came back he said that two of his housemates were coming round to join us. I sort of relaxed and thought that if he was going to back out, then this is when he'd do it and I'd be ready. When he asked how many drinks I'd had, and saw that I was over the limit, I thought that was a hint and made plans to stay for a few hours in the pub on soft drinks if he left me and then drive home that night.
His two mates turned up, and they were really good craic. One followed me up to the bar (EB suspects she was trying to chat me up -- I'm usually oblivious to advances from girls, so who knows?), but I chatted to her while the drinks were served and then went back to join himself on the sofa.
He seemed glad they'd arrived, and when the craic was flowing again, I summoned up some courage and made some contact. When he didn't flinch and run a mile, I finally exhaled. Still not sure whether (let alone where) things were going, I just enjoyed the chat between them all, and relaxed a bit more. He shot me a couple of foxy looks over the next half an hour, and towards the end of drink number 6, he nudged me and said under his breath "come on, drink up -- I'm taking you home"
I left yesterday at a quarter to three, and the rest is personal ;o)

(* Last year I met the beautiful and brilliant Chris. Then promptly fucked up my chances with him over the following days by trying to be too cool. But I'll learn (eventually). Anyway, it was an amazing night out with himHe was the first guy I ever kissed, and it was a setup. Initially I could've killed Fraser for sneaking Chris into the proceedings, but I could've kissed him in the end. Had I not been otherwise engaged.)

Is it meself?!

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Monday 29 May 2006

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Thursday 25 May 2006

I'm off

Wednesday 24 May 2006

Fridgewatch: BREAKING NEWS!!!

Fridgewatch

Thursday 18 May 2006

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Monday 15 May 2006

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Public Outreach Faffery

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Wednesday 10 May 2006

Espresso Me!

Tuesday 2 May 2006

MegaPost: Brilliant Bank Holiday Weekend

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