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