Bank Holiday bedlam

The tradition here in jolly old Blighty is that when it's a Bank Holiday weekend we simply must go out on the Sunday evening and drink ourselves into oblivion so that we can spend most of the precious extra free holiday day in bed with a terrible hangover. This isn't the case for today, I am hangover free. But I did venture out into the town and it was the usual madness so here I am blogging about it.

The evening began a bit clashy. The first day of sunshine we'd had in what seems like forever was yesterday. And it was deeeeeelicious. So of course I had to stay out in it for as long as I could. Thus I found myself at Wavey's asking ever so innocently what the time was. The reply of 7pm prompted me to do lots of squeaking and fuuuuuuuuu...I'm never going to make it into town for 8 cos I have to wash my hair type exclamations. I scarpered back to mine and got ready pronto.

Thus I found myself in the meeting pub. I always thank my lucky stars that I am: a) tall and b) have very distinctive hair as I can easily find the people that I'm going to meet or they can find me. Despite the throngs of people I managed to find D and we squeezed our way to the front of the bar, bearing in mind at this time of 8.30 the queue was 6-deep. Thoughts of being laydee-like and just ordering a half went out of the window due to the excessive queue, so a pint it was. We hadn't even gone 2 steps with our drinks before someone knocked D and I had half a pint dripping down my arm. Welcome to Bank Holiday Bedlam.

The pub was jumping. Literally. The inside was packed. The outside was even more packed. It was standing room only. In the small group of girls that we were there was some kerfuffle with a group of boys and in what seemed like a matter of minutes one of the girls was crying. This did not bode well for the rest of the evening. I'm not entirely sure of the sorry tale as I only heard it chinese whisper style 4th hand but apparently one of the boys had called this girl fat. Now most girlies in my town would have simply either told this sorry loser to eff-off or would have punched him. Clearly this was an emotional day as she sobbed. It was awful. I had never met her before, really had no clue what was going on, the table of boys were mortified, what a mess. We didn't stay too long...

The next plan was to go to the awful pub that used to be a cracking old man's pub but is now a nasty townie wine bar. And there were people queueing up. Outside. In order to get in. I have one rule about pubs: I will never queue to get into one! A club yes, but a pub, no way! D and I did the most sensible thing and opted for a different pub. Much more our taste. Music was good. There were seats. And there was much hilarity. Which evolved from the following incidents:
*D telling me all about this guy who we shall call Wrecker (name changed for safety reasons) That's the name he's known by. Back in our art college days D and S had gone back to Wrecker's house after a night out at the local sweaty ceiling club. They were expecting to be raped and pillaged. He had severed dolls heads in his living room. They were thinking oh-oh what's he doing in the kitchen, mixing up some deadly cocktail with which to poison them so that he could have his wicked way...turns out he was cooking up some baked potatoes cos he was a bit peckish.
*We were sat very near the pool table last night. One guy had those low slung jeans where basically they sit down and you see their undercrackers. This was all the usual thing but this one guy started doing all those weird leg actions as he was taking each shot. The only way to describe this is that he looked like a dog cocking his leg ready to pee. Men are very strange beings.
*D has decided that the next 5 years are crucial in our development. We had one of those discussions that can only take place when you have alcohol in your hand about where we might be. We didn't actually come up with a firm answer which says a lot for both of us I think. All I could think was that in 5 years I will be 38. EEEEEEKKKKK!

We trotted off to the next pub and it was horrible. Why is the last pub always the most awful? I know it's when they switch the lights on and everyone who looked okay becomes suddenly real and usually quite minging, but this was bad. D and I were looking around in horror. And there's people do this every single Friday and Saturday night. Ugh. Nasty. And that was it. Or so we thought. Because the town was so busy trying to get a taxi was a nightmare. I walked further down and left D as we go in different directions. It's fair to say that I never have any problems getting a taxi usually. But it took me 15 minutes to flag one down. And he was a whinger. All the way home moaning about this, moaning about that. I felt like saying to him, shut up already! You're getting a tenner out of me to drive 5 minutes down the road, how hard can your life be!! Tchah!

And that was it. I survived. I was out for a total of 3 hours. But that was more than enough for me. There will be people laying in bed today with some bad sunburn and a very bad hangover. Bless them all.

Later alligator x