Dear patient readers,
Just over a month since the last update must make this the least updated blog in cyberspace.
I don't remember what I did the first two weeks of August, but let's guess it was rehab after Tour de Suede and work so that nobody gets disappointed.
Over the last two weeks the following has happened;
The Ashes is over, after weeks of cricket England stood as winners! During the second day of the last game I was with work at a mall to have Friday lunch and hand out flyers. As we dined and wined, I got frequent and excited reports from Frenty that England was playing fantastically and that he left work to go to the pub. Very frustrated I was jumping up and down in my seat, and as soon as lunch was done I grabbed a load of flyers and took off to hand out flyers in the perimeter. In all honesty I did hand out a flyer in the pub whilst watching the game.
The following day we decided to have an all day cricket experience. Hence, I showed up at Frenty's at 11 with a bigpack of Becks. We loaded them in a cooler packed with ice and parked our arses in the sofas for the rest of the day, leaving only to take a leak (We figured having a bucket by the sofas would be a bit too much). After six hours of cricket and the takeaway downed I passed out in the couch at 18. Fab sports day.
This months new word is converted to a sports chant of the month; English cricket fans at the Aussie crowd; 'We all came with a backpack-You had a bowl and chains!' Muahahahahaha
The yearly kick-off with work was, thankfully, in London this year. About 50 people took part. This of course meant full days of presentations and powerpoints and evenings of dinners and drinks. The first two days went by pretty quietly, in fact yours truly won an award and it was not the debauchery prize like at the last kickoff. In hinesight I probably would have, but prizes were handed out before the final night.
Final day we were given different scetches to perform later at the dinner. Without boring you with what we do for a living, my group decided to do an American Idol imitation. The Hoff, Paula Abdul and myself as Simon Cowell in the jury. One of the contestants was a smashing girl from Dominican Republic posing as a stripper. 'Hell Yes' from all of the jury and we won the skit contest without question :-D
After the price ceremony the music and dancing got started. When 'Sweet child of mine' was played a fab four with rock star ambitions jumped the stage and played the song with imagined instruments. Lead guitar hero - yours truly of course. Star of the band was our Welsh drummer who jumped off his chair on stage, into the crowd and kneeling played a surprising guitar solo on the dance floor. Class. Supposedly all of the skits and the imaginary instruments act are all caught on tape. Still to be confirmed.
After the music died out it was all of a sudden up to me to find us a club to go to. Luckily I had been in the area before and led the troops to the bar of a nearby place. We crowded the bar and the real debauchery started. I was never in the bar but was never without a drink. Our kind president bought Champagne that was sprayed all over the place. I remember spraying Dom Perignon with our Sales Manager whilst the president was still signing the slip. Full out swinery within hours as myself and a female colleague spat champagne on eachother and poured and sprayed the rest all over us. Soaked with champagne, a gold medal around my neck and with my shirt unbuttoned further than stylish to say the least, I managed to pick up a girl. I still don't understand how that happened.
Managed to get a cab home with, apparently, two colleagues to start with. I only remember one. Impressively I was the least drunk person in the car. Had to stop the cab to take a leak before we got off at an off licence for some much neded food.
Now, crashing home at 4.30 is not so bad had it not been for the fact that I was due at the office at 8.45 to get in a car to Manchester and Old Trafford for the Man U v Arsenal game. Proud of myself I left the mobile on, so that if I would not wake up from the alarm, Frenty could call me. Luckily I woke up when the alarm went off. Seven missed calls from Frenty was easily explained as it was on silent mode. Genius.
It was a Motley Crew that met up that morning. Can do no naming for this one so lets call them Colleague T, H, D and P. T is the Welsh drummer, just to put that in context. H did not know where he was or why, P the driver, was still sleeping at 09. Frenty and I unsuccessfully tried to find an off licence that would sell us beers.
We made it to Manchester in record time after almost crashing twice. I passed out for a good hour whilst T and Frenty talked their heads of about Man U. We had tickets to the Europa Lounge so we were all suited up, looking much better than we felt upon arrival. Luckily, in the executive suites, booze is included in the three course dinner. We won the quiz with a moderate use of Google on our blackberries and got to meet both Van der Saar and Darren Fletcher.
To the game itself then; Great arena obviously, very good game, Rooney scored and the crowd cheered. As soon as Wenger stood up the crowd shouted 'Sit down you peeedofiiiiile', hilarious.
As the masses crowded the streets on their way to the tube we had more drinks and dessert in the lounge. Very executive.
After a six day streak including a bank holiday where I armwrestled Yankee friend Tom on an outside pub with Frank Lampard sitting next to us in his car, by winning forbidding him to support Chelsea, it was a hollow-eyed week in the office. Unfortunately I had to meet with loads of clients and tried my best to keep up appearances, promising myself that it would be a quiet weekend.
Yesterday I dragged myself to Fulham to go pad hunting with Frenty. Within an hour with an impressively hung over agent we found a class place smack down Fulham in an old Edwardian mansion house, fittingly named 'King Edward's Mansions'. Big place with great cricket couches. Moving in date for the classy bachelors pad will be October 3 so now I am officially homeless for two weeks.
Of course that called for celebrations and as we were close to the White Horse, that was a given. Alfbow, Erik and Tom joined. Later at 3 Kings, Sweden played a world cup qualifyer against Hungary. Whan Hunbgary equaled the score to 1-1 and the exstatic Hungarians chanted RIA, RIA - HUNGARIA we got pissed off and instead chanted CLEAN, CLEAN - CLEAN MY HOUSE. Much appreciated.
To this point today I have been able to put together three words and have managed a total of two thoughts. Phew.
See you in about a month then, wish me luck!
P
söndag 6 september 2009
lördag 1 augusti 2009
Tour de Suede
Rain has delayed the start of the 3rd day of the Ashes at Edgbaston, so whilst the umpires perform their pitch inspection I will share the events of last month.
As you guessed I have become a cricket nerd. Fellow nerd Frenty and I have followed the game against the Aussies meticulously, the BBC is kind enough to broadcast online so we can follow it from work.. England actually has a shot at winning the little trophy this time, the Cricket Nerds United stand up and applaud.
I forgot to mention in the last episode that we saw a legendary role model in action whilst downing pints at builders. A man in tennis clothing walks in to the bar, gets a pint and enjoys a smoke. The boys are impressed with how he relaxes after a day of sports. When his wife pulls up in the car he quickly downs the pint and finishes his smoke. We realize that she is there to pick him up for going to the tennis game. Legendary preparation. 'Blast, if we are to play that boring Jones couple I will need a drink!'
After 10 sober and irrelevant days we geared up for the 1st annual Kings Road pub crawl. Starting at the Phoenix with a pint and a GT-icecream we scurried around the bars of Chelsea, including star bar the Pigs Ear. Neighbor to the bar is guitar legend Eric Clapton so a little air guitar outside his door was a must. We came half way through the crawl before we were lured to a home party that was so boring we left within two pints and went to a club. Great success.
As nobody following this blog cares what I do at work anyway let's skip to the next event; Tour de Suede;
Work was kind enough to pay for my ticket home so last week i got on the BA flight and did my best for adding to their red numbers during the flight to Sthlm. The plan was four days of debauchery in the capital followed by three days of rehab down South with the family.
Upon arrival the boys were on their toes and in notime we were at a restaurant feasting on meetballs and pints. The Rev had started to date a mother of two and got a fair bit of stick for handing her the keys to his flat. Since my move the boys have started to exercise way too much and have lost a scary amount of beer belly fat. At least Bagish sleeps with his PT which justifies the means a bit.
We toured on to Soap bar where Pepe and I found a set of twins, The Rev hooked up with his mother of two and the others got lost in the alcohol fumes. Pepe managed to get his girl to come home with us to his under construction flat which meant that I was sent off to the kitchen. Slept like a baby on a mattress. Viva Espana!
Day two we all paid a terrible price and the activities were reduced to eating a pizza, looking like white trash and vomiting in the evening.
Day three we were once more strong and took refuge to Director O / Sir Loin's place for a quiet evening. The additions of three cases of Heineken, Frenty's arrival plus some spicy Indian food led to binge drinking, ring of fire-chanting, and crashing at Sir Loins couch in the early morning.
Day four we geared up for a visit to legendary club Cliff Barnes, where we had dinner, pitchers of Mohito and danced at the tables in an orderly fashion. I remember playing a fantastic air guitar solo on a chair, seeing Bagish dance in the window and many trays of drinks. The rest is a blur to all of us. Fantastic night On the way home we successfully degraded Pepe's dreadful roundabout Moose.
Sunday meant 5 hours on a packed train. Very fortunately Bagish decided to tell his girlfriend that his mother was sick and joined me on the train. We spent the trip in the bistro eating, sweating, trying to remember the night before and picking on an innocent passenger for sweating so much. Bagisch fired away a silent killer that made the bistro cry blood. Probably some old Brie cheese in the bar we told the poor woman sitting next to us as she tried not to breath.
Rehab went well, managed to play a round of golf without loosing all the balls and my mind which was quite good considering the level of my game. Thanks family for the needed rest.
Now back in rainy LDN I have realized that my vocabulary gets an addition about once a week so I figured I'd share my newfounds with you. So here goes;
New word of the week; to skull - in Aussie slang this means 'down your drink in one!'
Reports from Sthlm came in last night; the level decreased even further as Diplomasen arrived, drank and entered the wrong door hissing at a cat inside the neighbors flat. Impressive.
Over and out
P
As you guessed I have become a cricket nerd. Fellow nerd Frenty and I have followed the game against the Aussies meticulously, the BBC is kind enough to broadcast online so we can follow it from work.. England actually has a shot at winning the little trophy this time, the Cricket Nerds United stand up and applaud.
I forgot to mention in the last episode that we saw a legendary role model in action whilst downing pints at builders. A man in tennis clothing walks in to the bar, gets a pint and enjoys a smoke. The boys are impressed with how he relaxes after a day of sports. When his wife pulls up in the car he quickly downs the pint and finishes his smoke. We realize that she is there to pick him up for going to the tennis game. Legendary preparation. 'Blast, if we are to play that boring Jones couple I will need a drink!'
After 10 sober and irrelevant days we geared up for the 1st annual Kings Road pub crawl. Starting at the Phoenix with a pint and a GT-icecream we scurried around the bars of Chelsea, including star bar the Pigs Ear. Neighbor to the bar is guitar legend Eric Clapton so a little air guitar outside his door was a must. We came half way through the crawl before we were lured to a home party that was so boring we left within two pints and went to a club. Great success.
As nobody following this blog cares what I do at work anyway let's skip to the next event; Tour de Suede;
Work was kind enough to pay for my ticket home so last week i got on the BA flight and did my best for adding to their red numbers during the flight to Sthlm. The plan was four days of debauchery in the capital followed by three days of rehab down South with the family.
Upon arrival the boys were on their toes and in notime we were at a restaurant feasting on meetballs and pints. The Rev had started to date a mother of two and got a fair bit of stick for handing her the keys to his flat. Since my move the boys have started to exercise way too much and have lost a scary amount of beer belly fat. At least Bagish sleeps with his PT which justifies the means a bit.
We toured on to Soap bar where Pepe and I found a set of twins, The Rev hooked up with his mother of two and the others got lost in the alcohol fumes. Pepe managed to get his girl to come home with us to his under construction flat which meant that I was sent off to the kitchen. Slept like a baby on a mattress. Viva Espana!
Day two we all paid a terrible price and the activities were reduced to eating a pizza, looking like white trash and vomiting in the evening.
Day three we were once more strong and took refuge to Director O / Sir Loin's place for a quiet evening. The additions of three cases of Heineken, Frenty's arrival plus some spicy Indian food led to binge drinking, ring of fire-chanting, and crashing at Sir Loins couch in the early morning.
Day four we geared up for a visit to legendary club Cliff Barnes, where we had dinner, pitchers of Mohito and danced at the tables in an orderly fashion. I remember playing a fantastic air guitar solo on a chair, seeing Bagish dance in the window and many trays of drinks. The rest is a blur to all of us. Fantastic night On the way home we successfully degraded Pepe's dreadful roundabout Moose.
Sunday meant 5 hours on a packed train. Very fortunately Bagish decided to tell his girlfriend that his mother was sick and joined me on the train. We spent the trip in the bistro eating, sweating, trying to remember the night before and picking on an innocent passenger for sweating so much. Bagisch fired away a silent killer that made the bistro cry blood. Probably some old Brie cheese in the bar we told the poor woman sitting next to us as she tried not to breath.
Rehab went well, managed to play a round of golf without loosing all the balls and my mind which was quite good considering the level of my game. Thanks family for the needed rest.
Now back in rainy LDN I have realized that my vocabulary gets an addition about once a week so I figured I'd share my newfounds with you. So here goes;
New word of the week; to skull - in Aussie slang this means 'down your drink in one!'
Reports from Sthlm came in last night; the level decreased even further as Diplomasen arrived, drank and entered the wrong door hissing at a cat inside the neighbors flat. Impressive.
Over and out
P
söndag 28 juni 2009
The Grosshandler
Another Sunday, another hangover, another black hole in the bank account. It is comforting to know that some things are for certain.
Given last week's Russian adventure my mind was set on a very quiet weekend to recover a little. Frenty was out of town so good odds for making it.
Well, not surprisingly it did not work out. Frenty's trip was the coming week and on top of that he got a visitor from home plus that we had a company party on Friday. Change of plans.
After work Friday I rushed to Piccadilly Circus to meet up with Frenty and his friend, let's call him Art (The man works with import/export of drugs, just like Art Vandelay in the Seinfeld episode). I arrived on extra time of the Sweden-England game to see our side lose on penalties. Great game though. We proceeded to the party, did our thing, crashed on to Firehouse, ditched it and rumbled on to Rafflers, a cool place full of mirrors. I got lost on the way to the bar, not cool.
Throughout the night we exclusively drank 'Grosshandlers', that Art introduced. Cognac, limonade and lime. Excellent drink. Art managed to tip 33 Pounds for a drink order of 30, not reading the instructions right on the card machine. Hilarious. We also met a Hugh Hefner wannabee who was the pimp of fallen empire China White night clubs.
We tried our best to expense the entire night on our respective companies. Fingers crossed
Crashed home around 04. Not so bad had it not been for the fact that I was due at the office at 09.30 for an online info session. Tiptoed in with a bad whisky breath and a coffee at 09.25 to find a worried colleague waiting for me plus the sales boss and the president in the online chat room. Crap. Somehow I managed to type decently and not to vomit during the session. Work must be so easy for people who are not drunks.
I delegated the rest of Saturday's tasks to my lovely, underpaid assistant and met up with the boys at Builder's arms. Lunch with the boys means pints and food, in that order. Rough start the first couple of pints, but where there is will there is a way. We sat in the shade at Builders for five hours, laughing hysterically and being typically British loud afternoon drinkers. Travel adventures, Clown porn and commenting bypassing sets of tits kept us occupied for most of the afternoon before we picked up the biggest bill so far at Builders. The happy owner was kind enough to invite us to the pub's 10 year anniversary party next week.
Quick pitstop for food before we moved to Fulham to pass out a bit before the night was to start properly. A walking-by girl mooned us in the living room window.
We brought Frenty's flatmates to Firehouse, including the best looking legs since Russia, drank Grosshandlers until we could not hold any more liquor, took a limousine back to the flat and started the afterparty. Successful emptying of all the bottles took until late morning.
Stumbling home around 11 after sleeping in a chair I ran into a colleague at the bus stop. He was thrilled to see me in my prime and to get a stinking hug. I don't remember the actual bus trip.
Today Frenty and I have agreed that the coming weekend needs to be really quiet. Both Unibet and Ladbrokes have already stopped accepting bets on that we will fail.
P
Given last week's Russian adventure my mind was set on a very quiet weekend to recover a little. Frenty was out of town so good odds for making it.
Well, not surprisingly it did not work out. Frenty's trip was the coming week and on top of that he got a visitor from home plus that we had a company party on Friday. Change of plans.
After work Friday I rushed to Piccadilly Circus to meet up with Frenty and his friend, let's call him Art (The man works with import/export of drugs, just like Art Vandelay in the Seinfeld episode). I arrived on extra time of the Sweden-England game to see our side lose on penalties. Great game though. We proceeded to the party, did our thing, crashed on to Firehouse, ditched it and rumbled on to Rafflers, a cool place full of mirrors. I got lost on the way to the bar, not cool.
Throughout the night we exclusively drank 'Grosshandlers', that Art introduced. Cognac, limonade and lime. Excellent drink. Art managed to tip 33 Pounds for a drink order of 30, not reading the instructions right on the card machine. Hilarious. We also met a Hugh Hefner wannabee who was the pimp of fallen empire China White night clubs.
We tried our best to expense the entire night on our respective companies. Fingers crossed
Crashed home around 04. Not so bad had it not been for the fact that I was due at the office at 09.30 for an online info session. Tiptoed in with a bad whisky breath and a coffee at 09.25 to find a worried colleague waiting for me plus the sales boss and the president in the online chat room. Crap. Somehow I managed to type decently and not to vomit during the session. Work must be so easy for people who are not drunks.
I delegated the rest of Saturday's tasks to my lovely, underpaid assistant and met up with the boys at Builder's arms. Lunch with the boys means pints and food, in that order. Rough start the first couple of pints, but where there is will there is a way. We sat in the shade at Builders for five hours, laughing hysterically and being typically British loud afternoon drinkers. Travel adventures, Clown porn and commenting bypassing sets of tits kept us occupied for most of the afternoon before we picked up the biggest bill so far at Builders. The happy owner was kind enough to invite us to the pub's 10 year anniversary party next week.
Quick pitstop for food before we moved to Fulham to pass out a bit before the night was to start properly. A walking-by girl mooned us in the living room window.
We brought Frenty's flatmates to Firehouse, including the best looking legs since Russia, drank Grosshandlers until we could not hold any more liquor, took a limousine back to the flat and started the afterparty. Successful emptying of all the bottles took until late morning.
Stumbling home around 11 after sleeping in a chair I ran into a colleague at the bus stop. He was thrilled to see me in my prime and to get a stinking hug. I don't remember the actual bus trip.
Today Frenty and I have agreed that the coming weekend needs to be really quiet. Both Unibet and Ladbrokes have already stopped accepting bets on that we will fail.
P
tisdag 23 juni 2009
Shit Happens and Bye Bye
Privet tavaritj, I suffered from post traumatic hangover yesterday but here comes the summary of last weeks 'business'-trip to Mother Russia;
My first encounter with Russian administration came in customs; Christ, I stood basically still for one hour before I made it by a depressing looking woman and into Russia.
Well inside Russia I discovered what many have done before me, the classy Russian dames are absolutely top class! The others look like they escaped from a zoo.
I co-travelled with a colleague who had arranged for a private driver to take us around during the business part of the trip. In neo-classic Russian style we travelled in a huge Mercedes through beautiful contrast Moscow to our top class hotel. Very classy start. Food at nice restaurants is also very good and relatively cheap. Always served with vodka, that one is supposed to drink pure of course.
Day two was filled with two meetings and an event at the evening. Event one went well, with a translator of course. Hilarious. We passed by the KGB academy on the way to meeting two.
Meeting two was very different. We were greeted overwhelmingly and straight away taken to lunch. Borstj, salad and vodka of course. Then time to do business. After the same procedure with a better translator in a bigger office the Russians started arguing wildly before surprisingly letting us know that we could do business. In the office stood a prancing little pony statue. At its hooves lay hard cash and credit cards. Russian feng shui for success and wealth they said. Grasping the context I quickly donated 10 quid for a successful deal. Big cheer from the Russian comrades. I wonder how I shall go about expensing that..
The last event was held at very classy Marriot hotel. In short it went well. Yawn. So far only the best of the new Russia, country of contrast.
Having spent a full day with a polite business smile it was a great relief to join forces with old friend 'the Colonel' and his friend S for some evening drinks. Let the debauchery begin;
1st stop; The red square, the Kreml and the cathedral 5 minutes from the hotel. Threw a coin outside a circle in the absolute centre of Moscow for a great night with my friends.
2nd stop, small club. Fabulous place, all vodka was served with a pint of beer. Not the other way around. This is Russia, mind you. We got nicely drunk. Then we moved to Solyanka, a bigger club. Gorgeous women, more vodka and soon my meeting the day after seemed distant. Somewhere in time my phone magically disappeared. About the same time as the Colonel. Sheit. Luckily I had subconsciously anticipated this and had the card to the hotel with me. Moscow is brighter than Stockholm in the summer and since the phone was my only time control I was a bit lost.
I think I took a cab home to the hotel. Took a deep vodka breath and strolled up to the concierge to get the phone barred. Must have been a sight for gods. I remember being very, very proud to remember ordering a wake up call to 9.30 as I had a meeting at 11. Also remembering that I had the Colonels no. on facebook I crashed in bed quite content knowing that I would get through the next day.
Sudden awakening as the phone rang in my unconsciousness to wake me up to an interesting day. It took a couple of seconds to remember why this was. Ok ok ok I figured. First a great breakfast, then the meeting before I could work for a while or go to the hotel spa and a police station. I think I took a shower before rolling down to an empty breakfast room. The waiter was kind enough to tell me that it was 12.15. Euuuh sheit.
-'I ordered a wake up call at 09.30' I grumbled with shiny red eyes to the kind woman in reception.
-'We called you at that time Sir, you did not answer'. Euuuuh Sheit.
-'What time is check-out?'
-'12.00 Sir'. Euuuh Sheit.
I made a quick check out. Then checked back into the business centre to resolve everything. Fortunately service at the hotel was top class and everybody spoke good English.
No number to the Colonel on Facebook. Crap. Moscow has some 30 million inhabitants. Slim chances to run into him on the street. Managed to get a hold of his number through my operator. Tried to resolve the case with the insurance company. Need to go to the police they said. No shit. Magically the Colonel was not at work as planned either and actually answered the phone. Phew.
We joined forces at 15 in the hotel, both having seen better days. Off to the closest police station, and officially the end of the luxury part of the trip. The local police station was a shack full of tired guys with machine guns and a supposed prostitute. Not a word of English was spoken.
Plan B; bar. After a pint and a coffee we managed to get a Russian flatmate to come down to help us translate. His job was to take pictures of people handing out flyers to make sure they did their job. Hopeful we went back. This time it went better, me and flatmate Sasha were escorted into the back room to the detectives. The room consisted of three old computers, two tired cops, one microwave oven and a tiny Matruschka doll. Nothing in the room had been cleaned for ten years. One of the guys looked mentally challenged to say the least. I struggled with keeping from laughing.
After being led out, and listening to all the cops, military police (and the prositute) argue we were told to go to a police station in another district. No extra effort for a 200 pound salary a month.
Very well, we toured to the next station. It rained a bit of course which was quite nice considering the hangover. We mistook a liver croissant for a chocolate one. Interesting.
Station two was one big room with reception to the left, waiting hall in the centre and a counter next to a primitive cell to the right. The old style cell, containing three prisoners was so close to the counter that they easily could reach whoever stood there. about 1,2 meters separated the bars from the counter. Charming. Of course this was not the correct station either.
Station three took the price. As we were told for the third time to go to another station we finally realized that changing the location for loosing the phone to the closest metro would solve the problem. We took a piss at the worst toilet I have seen. The dirtiest thing was the soap.
With our successful change of strategy we were once again escorted by a man with a gun to the back room, this time containg a total of three smoking Russians. Not understanding sheit of the conversation I looked around the room. Posters of Che, Vodka, porn and a little playboy sign sat on the walls. It was like walking in to a shop floor in the car industry 20 years ago. I had a hard time not smiling. After some 10 minutes of argumenting one of the cops stood up, looked at his watch, concluded that it was now after working hours and that we were not his problem. He sent us off in decent English with a 'shit happens and bye bye'.
I was of course enjoying myself tremendously during this 5 hour adventure. None less when buiying a bottle of fine vodka for 3 pounds and returning to the Colonels flat. Without exaggerating it was in worse shape than the police station. The mould in the shower room roof had its own life and the flat was packed with people and random stuff. A japanese family lived in the stairway. Where I lay my head is home so no problem. Especially after walking around Moscow in office shoes.
At the pre-party I managed to get the Colonel to write down his address on a piece of paper thinking last night might happen again. Ditched the party and some random women to go to a hip club. Took a wrong turn and ended up on the wrong side of a train track. Walking an extra 30 minutes around it was not an option. We crawled under a train and climbed over a steel construction surrounded by barb wire before jumping down and passing through the VIP line into the club, James Bond style.
The club was awesome to say the least. Apparently we had a great time as I lost all my cash and my sweater there before we returned to the club of the day before. Surprisingly I lost the Colonel again and ended up on the street outside sometime in the morning without a phone and no cash. Deja-vu. Resourceful I found a cash machine and a cab, found the address note and off we went.
At arrival the place did not exactly ring any bells. But then I had not been there more than once either. Some dumbass had gated the only entrance unfortunately. Having a mind without limits helps. I slimmed down and started to crawl under. A passer by must have had a laugh when he spotted me, stuck with my arse under the gate at 8 in the morning. I pushed through, only to learn that it was the wrong house and being thrown out by a guard. Great success.
This was not the best part of the trip. Wrong address, no phone and the bar I found was closed. Incredibly lucky I was when a bypassing woman allowed me to use her phone to wake the Colonel up. Even more luck was that he answered and knew where I was at. Content I leaned on a wall to not fall on the street.
The colonel himself had mysteriously picked up two girls at a McDonalds line, so he was not too thrilled to come and get me. Even less thrilled when we discovered that they had taken off when we got home. I cared less and slept like a child on the floor.
We surfaced at 15. Flight time was 2130. Time to go to the local market. After the must-have vodka breakfast we came to the market and saw two live bears in leashes try to fight. Sad but cool. Little time to spend there in the vast amount of souvenirs. First time I have bargained to buy postcards. In the end I found the grand price, a Liverpool Matruschka doll. Stevie G is the big one, inside him Torres, then Kuyt and Alonso before a tiny Hyypia appears. Hilarious.
Rushed to the airport with the train, to the airport bar and a last vodka race befopre I almost missed the flight home. They were nice to let me on in fact.
You know that you have had a good weekend when;
-You wake up and the stewardess feeds you an hour after everybody else.
-She brings water without you having asked for it and asks how your weekend was.
-She asks if you liked the Russian vodka much
-At landing she asks if you will be all right since they worry about you.
In short, this was an absolutely fantastic trip.
Spatsiba
Piotr
-
My first encounter with Russian administration came in customs; Christ, I stood basically still for one hour before I made it by a depressing looking woman and into Russia.
Well inside Russia I discovered what many have done before me, the classy Russian dames are absolutely top class! The others look like they escaped from a zoo.
I co-travelled with a colleague who had arranged for a private driver to take us around during the business part of the trip. In neo-classic Russian style we travelled in a huge Mercedes through beautiful contrast Moscow to our top class hotel. Very classy start. Food at nice restaurants is also very good and relatively cheap. Always served with vodka, that one is supposed to drink pure of course.
Day two was filled with two meetings and an event at the evening. Event one went well, with a translator of course. Hilarious. We passed by the KGB academy on the way to meeting two.
Meeting two was very different. We were greeted overwhelmingly and straight away taken to lunch. Borstj, salad and vodka of course. Then time to do business. After the same procedure with a better translator in a bigger office the Russians started arguing wildly before surprisingly letting us know that we could do business. In the office stood a prancing little pony statue. At its hooves lay hard cash and credit cards. Russian feng shui for success and wealth they said. Grasping the context I quickly donated 10 quid for a successful deal. Big cheer from the Russian comrades. I wonder how I shall go about expensing that..
The last event was held at very classy Marriot hotel. In short it went well. Yawn. So far only the best of the new Russia, country of contrast.
Having spent a full day with a polite business smile it was a great relief to join forces with old friend 'the Colonel' and his friend S for some evening drinks. Let the debauchery begin;
1st stop; The red square, the Kreml and the cathedral 5 minutes from the hotel. Threw a coin outside a circle in the absolute centre of Moscow for a great night with my friends.
2nd stop, small club. Fabulous place, all vodka was served with a pint of beer. Not the other way around. This is Russia, mind you. We got nicely drunk. Then we moved to Solyanka, a bigger club. Gorgeous women, more vodka and soon my meeting the day after seemed distant. Somewhere in time my phone magically disappeared. About the same time as the Colonel. Sheit. Luckily I had subconsciously anticipated this and had the card to the hotel with me. Moscow is brighter than Stockholm in the summer and since the phone was my only time control I was a bit lost.
I think I took a cab home to the hotel. Took a deep vodka breath and strolled up to the concierge to get the phone barred. Must have been a sight for gods. I remember being very, very proud to remember ordering a wake up call to 9.30 as I had a meeting at 11. Also remembering that I had the Colonels no. on facebook I crashed in bed quite content knowing that I would get through the next day.
Sudden awakening as the phone rang in my unconsciousness to wake me up to an interesting day. It took a couple of seconds to remember why this was. Ok ok ok I figured. First a great breakfast, then the meeting before I could work for a while or go to the hotel spa and a police station. I think I took a shower before rolling down to an empty breakfast room. The waiter was kind enough to tell me that it was 12.15. Euuuh sheit.
-'I ordered a wake up call at 09.30' I grumbled with shiny red eyes to the kind woman in reception.
-'We called you at that time Sir, you did not answer'. Euuuuh Sheit.
-'What time is check-out?'
-'12.00 Sir'. Euuuh Sheit.
I made a quick check out. Then checked back into the business centre to resolve everything. Fortunately service at the hotel was top class and everybody spoke good English.
No number to the Colonel on Facebook. Crap. Moscow has some 30 million inhabitants. Slim chances to run into him on the street. Managed to get a hold of his number through my operator. Tried to resolve the case with the insurance company. Need to go to the police they said. No shit. Magically the Colonel was not at work as planned either and actually answered the phone. Phew.
We joined forces at 15 in the hotel, both having seen better days. Off to the closest police station, and officially the end of the luxury part of the trip. The local police station was a shack full of tired guys with machine guns and a supposed prostitute. Not a word of English was spoken.
Plan B; bar. After a pint and a coffee we managed to get a Russian flatmate to come down to help us translate. His job was to take pictures of people handing out flyers to make sure they did their job. Hopeful we went back. This time it went better, me and flatmate Sasha were escorted into the back room to the detectives. The room consisted of three old computers, two tired cops, one microwave oven and a tiny Matruschka doll. Nothing in the room had been cleaned for ten years. One of the guys looked mentally challenged to say the least. I struggled with keeping from laughing.
After being led out, and listening to all the cops, military police (and the prositute) argue we were told to go to a police station in another district. No extra effort for a 200 pound salary a month.
Very well, we toured to the next station. It rained a bit of course which was quite nice considering the hangover. We mistook a liver croissant for a chocolate one. Interesting.
Station two was one big room with reception to the left, waiting hall in the centre and a counter next to a primitive cell to the right. The old style cell, containing three prisoners was so close to the counter that they easily could reach whoever stood there. about 1,2 meters separated the bars from the counter. Charming. Of course this was not the correct station either.
Station three took the price. As we were told for the third time to go to another station we finally realized that changing the location for loosing the phone to the closest metro would solve the problem. We took a piss at the worst toilet I have seen. The dirtiest thing was the soap.
With our successful change of strategy we were once again escorted by a man with a gun to the back room, this time containg a total of three smoking Russians. Not understanding sheit of the conversation I looked around the room. Posters of Che, Vodka, porn and a little playboy sign sat on the walls. It was like walking in to a shop floor in the car industry 20 years ago. I had a hard time not smiling. After some 10 minutes of argumenting one of the cops stood up, looked at his watch, concluded that it was now after working hours and that we were not his problem. He sent us off in decent English with a 'shit happens and bye bye'.
I was of course enjoying myself tremendously during this 5 hour adventure. None less when buiying a bottle of fine vodka for 3 pounds and returning to the Colonels flat. Without exaggerating it was in worse shape than the police station. The mould in the shower room roof had its own life and the flat was packed with people and random stuff. A japanese family lived in the stairway. Where I lay my head is home so no problem. Especially after walking around Moscow in office shoes.
At the pre-party I managed to get the Colonel to write down his address on a piece of paper thinking last night might happen again. Ditched the party and some random women to go to a hip club. Took a wrong turn and ended up on the wrong side of a train track. Walking an extra 30 minutes around it was not an option. We crawled under a train and climbed over a steel construction surrounded by barb wire before jumping down and passing through the VIP line into the club, James Bond style.
The club was awesome to say the least. Apparently we had a great time as I lost all my cash and my sweater there before we returned to the club of the day before. Surprisingly I lost the Colonel again and ended up on the street outside sometime in the morning without a phone and no cash. Deja-vu. Resourceful I found a cash machine and a cab, found the address note and off we went.
At arrival the place did not exactly ring any bells. But then I had not been there more than once either. Some dumbass had gated the only entrance unfortunately. Having a mind without limits helps. I slimmed down and started to crawl under. A passer by must have had a laugh when he spotted me, stuck with my arse under the gate at 8 in the morning. I pushed through, only to learn that it was the wrong house and being thrown out by a guard. Great success.
This was not the best part of the trip. Wrong address, no phone and the bar I found was closed. Incredibly lucky I was when a bypassing woman allowed me to use her phone to wake the Colonel up. Even more luck was that he answered and knew where I was at. Content I leaned on a wall to not fall on the street.
The colonel himself had mysteriously picked up two girls at a McDonalds line, so he was not too thrilled to come and get me. Even less thrilled when we discovered that they had taken off when we got home. I cared less and slept like a child on the floor.
We surfaced at 15. Flight time was 2130. Time to go to the local market. After the must-have vodka breakfast we came to the market and saw two live bears in leashes try to fight. Sad but cool. Little time to spend there in the vast amount of souvenirs. First time I have bargained to buy postcards. In the end I found the grand price, a Liverpool Matruschka doll. Stevie G is the big one, inside him Torres, then Kuyt and Alonso before a tiny Hyypia appears. Hilarious.
Rushed to the airport with the train, to the airport bar and a last vodka race befopre I almost missed the flight home. They were nice to let me on in fact.
You know that you have had a good weekend when;
-You wake up and the stewardess feeds you an hour after everybody else.
-She brings water without you having asked for it and asks how your weekend was.
-She asks if you liked the Russian vodka much
-At landing she asks if you will be all right since they worry about you.
In short, this was an absolutely fantastic trip.
Spatsiba
Piotr
-
måndag 8 juni 2009
Swedish Steel vs British Pints
It seems a long time ago and it is, that the lads from home came to visit. This is the story of the weekend of the year;
A four man strong team stumbled upon London, Pepe, The Rev, Bagish and Rhodansch. The city of London shivered and pub owners saw light at the end of the tunnel. We started with moving the lads to a decent hotel from the shithole they had originally booked. The new place was as big as a booze cruise so it took us some time to get organized and hit the bars.
Six lads on a Thursday night is a tricky crew to maneuver into a trendy club. Smooth Frenty and Mr Stirling got us a nice table equipped with bottles of vodka ( iiiih) The boys were taken away by the club and the hot women. For a while I think that we actually had them fooled that all of London was like that all the time.
Day two was a bit tough as I had to work a bit. Whilst I was smiling to clients in a suit, the boys made it down to the embankment and a beer-boat. It was a sunny day so by the time I arrived they could easily have been confused with rednecks from South USA. Wifebeater tans, half of the faces burnt randomly red, and drunk as boys who have been in the sun drinking for 5 hours normally are. Tears in my eyes. I quickly ordered a tray of pints to get to the right level.
That night I think we went to eat at PJ;s, a classy burger place. It is difficult to be sure as Rhodansch does not have any recollection of having dinner at all. Then we hit Collection like a storm (well) More bottles, more laughs and Pepe met a charming working woman named Fortune. She had limits apparently as she asked us to take care of him when the place closed.
Day 3; Burger breakfast in South Ken. All present except for Bagisch who from this point on had more than small issues with magisch. The remaining heroes went to the white horse to fuel up again in the sun. During the course of the day both Pepe and I got messages from women with unknown numbers which we suspected were from the night before. It was a mind puzzle that we did not manage to solve. We guessed that Pepe's mystery girl was his Lady Fortune but mine remained a secret.
As it was 'El Clasico' that night (Yes, these kind of weekends actually happen) we took command of a floor of our own in a pub to watch it on a projector screen. Even Bagisch made it to see Barca crush the Merengues totally with a degrading 6-2. All happy, save Pepe who was extatic. As the night was still young and we were not coordinated enough to dance we continued drinking, this time at Firehouse. At this time the super detectives also discovered that Pepe and I had texted the same woman all the day. MI6 next...
We were joined by colleagues and friends for a night out. Thanks to one of our friends, no names but let's call him Erik, we had to navigate through many a nightclub lines before we were actually let in to a small downstairs club. More bottles=redneck boys went dancing. I danced graciously into and over a little table and down on the floor. End of romantic dance with unknown blonde.
At the end of the night Frenty and I lay on a sofa screaming cheering songs to Pepe who actually managed to pull a girl. Impressive really. Quite a good song too at the time :-) To the melody of the Steven Gerrard song it went like this;
''-Einaaaar Einaaaaar, half Swedish and haaalf Spaniaaaard,
He is big and he is fuckin' haaaaaard, Einaaaaar Einaaaaar''
Minutes later we were thrown out. Totally worth it.
The sad and physically relieving day when the boys took off I spent hiding in bed before taking off on a shaky tour around Europe for work. Could not imagine a better preparation :-)
In the next eposode of this fairytale of a life we fly to Colombia with imaginary swine flu for vacations.
Cheerio,
P
A four man strong team stumbled upon London, Pepe, The Rev, Bagish and Rhodansch. The city of London shivered and pub owners saw light at the end of the tunnel. We started with moving the lads to a decent hotel from the shithole they had originally booked. The new place was as big as a booze cruise so it took us some time to get organized and hit the bars.
Six lads on a Thursday night is a tricky crew to maneuver into a trendy club. Smooth Frenty and Mr Stirling got us a nice table equipped with bottles of vodka ( iiiih) The boys were taken away by the club and the hot women. For a while I think that we actually had them fooled that all of London was like that all the time.
Day two was a bit tough as I had to work a bit. Whilst I was smiling to clients in a suit, the boys made it down to the embankment and a beer-boat. It was a sunny day so by the time I arrived they could easily have been confused with rednecks from South USA. Wifebeater tans, half of the faces burnt randomly red, and drunk as boys who have been in the sun drinking for 5 hours normally are. Tears in my eyes. I quickly ordered a tray of pints to get to the right level.
That night I think we went to eat at PJ;s, a classy burger place. It is difficult to be sure as Rhodansch does not have any recollection of having dinner at all. Then we hit Collection like a storm (well) More bottles, more laughs and Pepe met a charming working woman named Fortune. She had limits apparently as she asked us to take care of him when the place closed.
Day 3; Burger breakfast in South Ken. All present except for Bagisch who from this point on had more than small issues with magisch. The remaining heroes went to the white horse to fuel up again in the sun. During the course of the day both Pepe and I got messages from women with unknown numbers which we suspected were from the night before. It was a mind puzzle that we did not manage to solve. We guessed that Pepe's mystery girl was his Lady Fortune but mine remained a secret.
As it was 'El Clasico' that night (Yes, these kind of weekends actually happen) we took command of a floor of our own in a pub to watch it on a projector screen. Even Bagisch made it to see Barca crush the Merengues totally with a degrading 6-2. All happy, save Pepe who was extatic. As the night was still young and we were not coordinated enough to dance we continued drinking, this time at Firehouse. At this time the super detectives also discovered that Pepe and I had texted the same woman all the day. MI6 next...
We were joined by colleagues and friends for a night out. Thanks to one of our friends, no names but let's call him Erik, we had to navigate through many a nightclub lines before we were actually let in to a small downstairs club. More bottles=redneck boys went dancing. I danced graciously into and over a little table and down on the floor. End of romantic dance with unknown blonde.
At the end of the night Frenty and I lay on a sofa screaming cheering songs to Pepe who actually managed to pull a girl. Impressive really. Quite a good song too at the time :-) To the melody of the Steven Gerrard song it went like this;
''-Einaaaar Einaaaaar, half Swedish and haaalf Spaniaaaard,
He is big and he is fuckin' haaaaaard, Einaaaaar Einaaaaar''
Minutes later we were thrown out. Totally worth it.
The sad and physically relieving day when the boys took off I spent hiding in bed before taking off on a shaky tour around Europe for work. Could not imagine a better preparation :-)
In the next eposode of this fairytale of a life we fly to Colombia with imaginary swine flu for vacations.
Cheerio,
P
onsdag 29 april 2009
Proud to be Scouse
Not surprisingly my body was screaming for help after the bank holiday so I decided to try a week off the booze. It went quite well. I had to go to a vaccination centre to get some shots for my trip to Colombia and was banned from drinking for one day which helped. I managed a full five days before a stroll in Notting hill ended up in a New York style bar that served Bloody Marys. Then it was football and.. well you know.
I have now officially seen Hyde park and Notting Hill so some credits for touristing finally. As a thank you for being treated nicely for a few days my body got a bad cold and for a while I was worried it might get to my roaring at Anfield for the game against Arsenal. Fortunately I recovered :-)
Tuesday, match day. Had a good meeting in the morning that in retrospect was bloody useless. Went to the train station to enjoy Virgin trains VIP lounge before heading to pool. Soft drinks only so I was not 100% thrilled with Mr Branson. However, as soon as I got on the train and into 1st class the journey picked up. If you ever are in the UK go with Virgin. The train wagon looked like a hotel lounge and the staff kept coming by with food and drinks until I could not eat anymore. And yes, Branson redeemed himself, hard liquor was free.
Hence, I was in great shape as i arrived in Liverpool. A quick pint and then off to the Scouse Mansion with fab sisters Amy and Jane before we hit the bars again. Well toasted we entered legendary Anfield Road just in time for You'll Never Walk Alone. Goosebumps. Needless to say the game was fantastic. I think I got two heart attacks and was close to vomit in the second half as the game finished 4-4. Bloody Arse-shavin scored four... Tremendous experience nevertheless! Nando Torres got two for us so there were hysterical cheering as well :-) There was glory on the fields of Anfield road as 43000 fans sang beautifully.
Back in London summer has arrived and I hit my sales target yesterday. Bloody hard work so celebration was in order to the CL game. I chose my weapon for the night; Stella Artois. Also known as 'the Wifebeater' since you apparently get weird drunken instincts drinking it. No battering last night, however 'the Wifebeater' proved to have another side effect. Terrible hangovers. Unfortunately we had a big team meeting this morning so I had to sith through a 1,5 hour presentation with one eye closed, shivering. Swine flu has nothing on that Stella hangover. At the end of the meeting I had to go home and lay down for a while to recover. Thanks to the BlackBerry mobile office I even managed to get away with my long 'lunch break' I think :-)
Tonight another CL game, then a few last deep breaths before the invasion of booze hounds from Stockholm. Official liquor kick-off at 20.30 tomorrow, expected duration three days. I hope to survive to tell the hilarious stories that will become of this.
Down periscope...blubb blubb
P
I have now officially seen Hyde park and Notting Hill so some credits for touristing finally. As a thank you for being treated nicely for a few days my body got a bad cold and for a while I was worried it might get to my roaring at Anfield for the game against Arsenal. Fortunately I recovered :-)
Tuesday, match day. Had a good meeting in the morning that in retrospect was bloody useless. Went to the train station to enjoy Virgin trains VIP lounge before heading to pool. Soft drinks only so I was not 100% thrilled with Mr Branson. However, as soon as I got on the train and into 1st class the journey picked up. If you ever are in the UK go with Virgin. The train wagon looked like a hotel lounge and the staff kept coming by with food and drinks until I could not eat anymore. And yes, Branson redeemed himself, hard liquor was free.
Hence, I was in great shape as i arrived in Liverpool. A quick pint and then off to the Scouse Mansion with fab sisters Amy and Jane before we hit the bars again. Well toasted we entered legendary Anfield Road just in time for You'll Never Walk Alone. Goosebumps. Needless to say the game was fantastic. I think I got two heart attacks and was close to vomit in the second half as the game finished 4-4. Bloody Arse-shavin scored four... Tremendous experience nevertheless! Nando Torres got two for us so there were hysterical cheering as well :-) There was glory on the fields of Anfield road as 43000 fans sang beautifully.
Back in London summer has arrived and I hit my sales target yesterday. Bloody hard work so celebration was in order to the CL game. I chose my weapon for the night; Stella Artois. Also known as 'the Wifebeater' since you apparently get weird drunken instincts drinking it. No battering last night, however 'the Wifebeater' proved to have another side effect. Terrible hangovers. Unfortunately we had a big team meeting this morning so I had to sith through a 1,5 hour presentation with one eye closed, shivering. Swine flu has nothing on that Stella hangover. At the end of the meeting I had to go home and lay down for a while to recover. Thanks to the BlackBerry mobile office I even managed to get away with my long 'lunch break' I think :-)
Tonight another CL game, then a few last deep breaths before the invasion of booze hounds from Stockholm. Official liquor kick-off at 20.30 tomorrow, expected duration three days. I hope to survive to tell the hilarious stories that will become of this.
Down periscope...blubb blubb
P
måndag 13 april 2009
Bank Holiday
Where to begin really... This last weekend has been an orgy of boozing and I do not remember half of it.
Well, first things first. Tuesday I got a visitor from the north, let's call her S, who stayed for the weekend. It is important to me that my guests experience the British culture properly so I did my best already the first evening. Builders, Fish and chips, pints and Champions League football. S was not as thrilled as me to see Man U draw against Porto. Must be a cultural issue.
To be sure S got the concept of pubs and football I repeated the procedure the following evening at another pub. Terribly disappointing as Pool lost 1-3 to the blue sheit at home.
Thursday evening another cultural part of London was ticked off. We went to see Billy Elliot the musical. Never heard that many curses at such an event. Truly good show and a great evening in all.
So far I had been working during the days, leaving S to enjoy LDN on her own. Due to a, shall we say slight communication error, Friday and Saturday continued that way. Friday for me started off at scaringly amusing white trash Aussie bar 'the Slug' already at 14 with Frenty and the two worst burgers in LDN so far. Three hours later we were in good shape to meet up with visiting legend Johnny boy and his girlfriend A. at a restaurant. The rest of the evening has been reiterated to me but apparently we had great pizzas and a very good time at the restaurant before we moved on to 'The Elk' for the second weekend straight.
As I gracefully made my way home to the flat with a still undetermined way of transport, S was thrilled. I crashed in through the door, then watched an episode of 2 1/2 men before I fell of the chair and on to the floor. Charming.
As we had previously made reservations for brunch, I leaped out of bed at 10 to sing 'Fields of Anfield Road' in the shower. Brunch was, however, cancelled and the conversation halted a bit to say the least. So to plan B then; boozing.
Frenty and I walked for almost an hour, save a short Bloody Mary break, to find a pub that showed Pool-Blackburn. Very fortunately we found a killer place south of the river where we both had good food, pints and watched pool crush Blackburn 4-0. Then we met up with Johnny boy and A for a proper brunch.
Somewhere beween Builders and brunch place PJs I lost it again. Later stappled out from PJs having had a tough time eating a burger. Johnny boy and A went to see Billy Elliot that some local drunk had recommended them to see the night before. Frenty went on a date and I walked Mr Mirkko from work and his friend to a nearby bar.
Later we were joined by S who also fancied a drink. After a quick stop at a nice place we turned to the Slug since we all wore sneakers and, seriously, would not get accepted anywhere else. Again the music was classic backpacker hits and again we had a good time. Afterwards S and I went to an off licence store to get some Heineken and have an afterparty at my place. No 2 1/2 men episode this time and a better behaving host so all smiles at that party.
S left super early to catch her flight so I was left alone to shiver and shake my way through the early part of the day. Took a looong walk along the river to shape up. Well, actually it was not so long but with hardly no speed in the hills and a break to rest it took some time.
Almost fine I went to meet up with the usual suspects to say hi before they returned to Sweden. We thought the waitor was retarded until he reveiled that he had been out all night. Fair enough.
Then what should not happen, happened. Three bottles of wine went down at the Indian restaurant and it was not all that late. Yes, you guessed it. We went to the Slug. Again. Snakebites, dancing on tables and air guitars. Johnny boy looked a bit suspicious of our choice. Bless.
So far today the body is coping surprisingly well. I suspect that the effects of the weekend will sneek up on me tomorrow instead. Bastards.
That was it for this bank holiday. We live to booze another day.
Cheers,
P
Well, first things first. Tuesday I got a visitor from the north, let's call her S, who stayed for the weekend. It is important to me that my guests experience the British culture properly so I did my best already the first evening. Builders, Fish and chips, pints and Champions League football. S was not as thrilled as me to see Man U draw against Porto. Must be a cultural issue.
To be sure S got the concept of pubs and football I repeated the procedure the following evening at another pub. Terribly disappointing as Pool lost 1-3 to the blue sheit at home.
Thursday evening another cultural part of London was ticked off. We went to see Billy Elliot the musical. Never heard that many curses at such an event. Truly good show and a great evening in all.
So far I had been working during the days, leaving S to enjoy LDN on her own. Due to a, shall we say slight communication error, Friday and Saturday continued that way. Friday for me started off at scaringly amusing white trash Aussie bar 'the Slug' already at 14 with Frenty and the two worst burgers in LDN so far. Three hours later we were in good shape to meet up with visiting legend Johnny boy and his girlfriend A. at a restaurant. The rest of the evening has been reiterated to me but apparently we had great pizzas and a very good time at the restaurant before we moved on to 'The Elk' for the second weekend straight.
As I gracefully made my way home to the flat with a still undetermined way of transport, S was thrilled. I crashed in through the door, then watched an episode of 2 1/2 men before I fell of the chair and on to the floor. Charming.
As we had previously made reservations for brunch, I leaped out of bed at 10 to sing 'Fields of Anfield Road' in the shower. Brunch was, however, cancelled and the conversation halted a bit to say the least. So to plan B then; boozing.
Frenty and I walked for almost an hour, save a short Bloody Mary break, to find a pub that showed Pool-Blackburn. Very fortunately we found a killer place south of the river where we both had good food, pints and watched pool crush Blackburn 4-0. Then we met up with Johnny boy and A for a proper brunch.
Somewhere beween Builders and brunch place PJs I lost it again. Later stappled out from PJs having had a tough time eating a burger. Johnny boy and A went to see Billy Elliot that some local drunk had recommended them to see the night before. Frenty went on a date and I walked Mr Mirkko from work and his friend to a nearby bar.
Later we were joined by S who also fancied a drink. After a quick stop at a nice place we turned to the Slug since we all wore sneakers and, seriously, would not get accepted anywhere else. Again the music was classic backpacker hits and again we had a good time. Afterwards S and I went to an off licence store to get some Heineken and have an afterparty at my place. No 2 1/2 men episode this time and a better behaving host so all smiles at that party.
S left super early to catch her flight so I was left alone to shiver and shake my way through the early part of the day. Took a looong walk along the river to shape up. Well, actually it was not so long but with hardly no speed in the hills and a break to rest it took some time.
Almost fine I went to meet up with the usual suspects to say hi before they returned to Sweden. We thought the waitor was retarded until he reveiled that he had been out all night. Fair enough.
Then what should not happen, happened. Three bottles of wine went down at the Indian restaurant and it was not all that late. Yes, you guessed it. We went to the Slug. Again. Snakebites, dancing on tables and air guitars. Johnny boy looked a bit suspicious of our choice. Bless.
So far today the body is coping surprisingly well. I suspect that the effects of the weekend will sneek up on me tomorrow instead. Bastards.
That was it for this bank holiday. We live to booze another day.
Cheers,
P
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