Saturday, October 29, 2005

Work Work Work Pub Club Sleep

I am writing this post as pissed as I ever have written anything I think, so excuse the usually exquisite spelling and grammar just this once. The evening started as so many do, at the Crown with Merk, Fulla, Austin, Fella, Old Man Rich et al. I have drunk as many Baltikas as it'd take to knock out a Siberian elephant if such a thing existed. Then I went back to some dude I barely know's house to work on their vodka, but the good host was busy pebble-dashing his own bathroom. Still the vodka was good. He had a ginger cat, which was cool. I'm home now and I'm bastarded. Listening to The Killers Smile Like You Mean It and Hard Fi's Living for the Weekend and Curtis Mayfield's epic string/horn/harp-tastic We People Who are Darker Than Blue. Merk's just come back from Coco's with tales that it was, in a word, shite. I'm glad I'm 26 and not 16. Thank God/Maradona I'm cormfortably old enough to get served and thank God/Beardsley for Russian beer.

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