Eat Me, Drink Me

So my not so carefully planned mission went pear-shaped (again). It wasn't that complex actually. Return pint glass to the Pub, as I had promised, go to tinternet cafe and post blog and then, watch Liverpool get beaten in the FA cup thus winning the bet I had with the Irish one. Like I said, not that complex....

Did the first bit ok but when I walked into the Pub to deliver glass, peeps from a previous lifetime were present and so the beer flowed. Eventually I made my excuses and left. My revised itinerary became - go to another pub, finish watching the football, collect my money as Liverpool were playing like a bunch of tipsy fairies, get a take-out Chinese and watch a movie.

Great plan very poorly executed. After the 'Pool had lost and I was preparing to leave, Skippy the not so bushy kangaroo phoned. He wanted to come out and play as his mistress had allowed him to. Thus began the second part of the comedy of errors. Beer followed beer and then Jack made his appearance (Daniels of course). We then bumped into Special K who had carefully disguised herself as a barfly in a different pub.

Many drinks later she asked if we had eaten. Yeah, like we'd had time (booger - forgot the Chinois!) to which we replied no. Suddenly we were transported into a nightime tour of the Sprout looking for a suitable restaurant at midnight. We got there - don't ask me where because I have no chuffing idea except that they had waiters and food and stuff.

Granted it was a pain in the arse going outside for a cigarette but the food was jolly scrummy. We ate, drank ridiculous amounts of vin rouge and laughed heartily. Even the waiters joined in with the laughing bit - probably at my miserable French (kind of lopes into Spanish at the most important part of the sentence like a drunken penguin).

Suffice to say, I landed back at chez-moi after 3am again. I dare say Skippy will be in trouble with his domimatrix again but I'm fairly confident I'll get the blame - usually do. Not that I give a flying fook anyway. I am quite used to shouldering the blame for little boys straying from the straight and narrow path of responsibility when they come anywhere near me. Anyone would think I am the devil in disguise. I'm not. I'm a lesbian in disguise - play tennis and love women etc. The difference is that I blame no-one except myself for everything I do. I hold my hands up and say "sorry my love, I fooked up and did this or that".

The good news is that I don't need to eat for a week now - kind of like Ramadan except I'm allowed to drink alcohol. So now I get to watch beloved United play and when they win *crosses fingers* the Irish one owes me twice as much money. Even if they lose, Goth forbid, thanks to the turgid display by Liverpool I cannot lose money. Special thanks also to Brucie's babies for drawing with the Toons as that was the prediction that turned all odds in my favour ;-)

a luego,
S

ps - and I have chosen a location where I can smoke, drink and stuff. Up yours Eurotwits *laughs and coughs at the same time*