Boke and Guinness and Soap

I'm feeling unusually refreshed for a Monday. Friday night was spent out drinking with a couple of friends. To avoid unnecessary (and redundant verbosity) the highlights were as follows.

• 7.20 pm. Got picked up by taxi, the driver stating that it would have been much handier for him if I'd walked down to the main road.
• 7.21 pm. Taxi driver seemed unable to comprehend that if I'd done that I wouldn't have needed him. (1st note to self - remember to fart so hard before getting out in future that taxi driver thinks you've shit yourself).
• 7.36pm. Arrive in Heddonism Central. Select bar/restaurant and take seats for the "chat". The chat involves male bonding type banter which builds up over the next few hours before concluding that all women are psychotic bastards.
• 10.00pm. Shift bar to one where the ladies will get the benefit of our new found wine induced confidence and witty repartee.
• 10.02pm. Bump into a previous incumbent of my job who's out entertaining what are now mutual clients, though we're now competitors. I do the shaky hand thing with them and smile a bit before being lumbered temporarily with him. He smells of boke (definition). (2nd note to self - remember to wash or wipe your boke smattered ear next time you end up getting sucked in to a conversation with this dickhead).
• 10.05pm. Became a smoker again for the night. Drink = Dark Side.
• 10.10pm. Customary bullshit and ogling.
• 11.40pm. Change bars. Elbow room now required (and faster service).
• 11.41pm. Arrive at neighbouring bar 20 feet away. On arrival my route to the bar staff is blocked by an English soap star. I badger him into ordering for me which allows me chat up his girlfriend who turns out to be from my hometown.
• 1.05am. Although my "humility" script for ego-centrics is quite good I eventually run out of things to say to said soap star. He was beginning to see through lines such as "It must be a very interesting job you have, opening supermarkets ....".
• 1.45am. Get picked up by same taxi driver.
• 1.58am. No, I don't want to be dropped off at the main road you decaying old fucker.
• 2.05am. Nod. (3rd note to self - as soon as you hear yourself saying "I'm just going to have a quiet night" you've just given the evening the kiss of death. It's as predictable as Abracadabra and a puff of smoke or Bush lying when he opens his mouth).
• Saturday. Drag out hangover until at least 5pm. Deny to everyone you have a hangover even though they can still smell the drink off your breath. Convince yourself your liver doesn't hurt, it's mind over matter.