I have been dreading this run since last Monday when we saw our mate and his mrs in Tesco and he invited us out for his birthday. He is very good (or very bad, depending on how you look at it) at leading people astray when it comes to pub and last night was no exception.
Just as you can map my drunken progress through the house by the trail of keys, handbag and shoes, I now have the power of technology to trace my steady decent from arriving at the club to when I apparently ‘fell off the kitchen’. I was (and still am) unbelievably chuffed with the price of a round (2 and a half pints of bitter, half a lager, pint of cider, 2 bottles of pils and a G&T – £14.26!), made arrangements for sharing JogBlog’s donkey with benjiboyW (if you look at his Janathon mileage, let me assure you that you’re not drunk or seeing things. It’s terrifying) and frittered away time and money on the quiz machine.
I did manage to have a savant-like run on one game, winning us a whole £3 with my tiny lady brain, but generally adopted a policy of poking at the screen with the confident certainty of the drunk. Things probably reached a low point when we were excited to survived a round of a game that asked us to identify “things that wobble” and then distinguish “letters of the alphabet” from an assortment of numbers and punctuation symbols.
Clearly some kind of miracle occurred overnight and I woke up before seven feeling remarkably chipper. We had to snow so I took myself down to the lodge to commune with nature and say hello to the ducks.
I now have an insatiable hunger and have to go to work where the only available shop is the chemist in our building. I am doomed to a diet of chupa chup lollies and slimfast.