Haha, course not, no one does, and with good reason, I know it seems I've totally abandoned the art/fad of blogging the tiny details of every drunken emo journey I take. Oh I mean, yes you're right. Whoops. It maybe because my life has drastically changed and I have no emotional space for any emo thoughts. Luckily my liver still has space for alcohol fueled nights and caffeinated ramblings.
So how has it changed I hear the vast tumbleweed haunted landscapes of my blogging audience shout. Well I only went and found the girl of my dreams, moved in together, got engaged and am now planning the purchase of our first home, as well as an extravagant wedding. I feel like I want to put down in writing every single bit of what's happened, but I don't think I have the thumb dexterity to even attempt such a task.
But maybe this'll be a hilarious sparse interlude in this barren landscape. KAPOW.
It doesn't work does it. Keeping track of life or time. Seems like I can't observe it and live it at the same time. Argh, in my face. I so nearly documented my entire American holiday in graphic detail, but just failed slightly less bad than normal.
Possibly a repeating story, but we met in a pub today, the Barrow Boy and Banker to be specific, with Dan and Tracey, and we had a nice pint watching the end of the Man City game before heading to the Southwark Tavern, where we then spent the majority of the afternoon and early evening. Really great pub, cool cubicle style area where there used to be prison cells. Nice range of beer I think. Maybe. Ooh and there food was awesome, I had 'Pork belly with bacon and sage mash, sautéed leeks and grain mustard sauce' which was phenomenal, even in a slightly drunk state. Dan and I also had to greatest conversation of all time, which lasted 30 minutes, and destroyed Dan and Tracey's soul. I can't even truely remember what it was about, it's similar to the greatest song in the world that Tenacious D wrote tribute about.
So work began a crazy Mini-League with the Sun Dream Team, and me being the only developer in the league, I have to show that not all developers are sport-knowledgeless nerds. I may fail, but here is my team filled with dreams and hopes:
Unfortunately not you peculiar children, but there was an excellent cinema night to be had there after initially meeting up with Shing and Jon in the The Minories for a fast pint and all-day breakfast, for a low low price of just 4.99. Yum yum yum. Always a good start to an evening. I then was a bit worried about all my internal organs as they felt a bit like failing periodically throughout the night. But that's never enough to slow me down, so Rex and I perambulated along to Wilton's bust out some Staropramen action, with Rex investigating the Guinness surger device. Where basically a can of non Guinness like liquid is poured into a glass, it is then put on an electrical plate that sends ultrasonic waves to recreate the "surge and settle" effect of your classic Guinness draught pourage.
- Designing Women (1948), where Joyce Grenfell took us through the dos and don'ts of home furnishing
- Zandra Rhodes (1981), showing early collaborations
- Miniskirts Make Money (1968).... oh yeah.
Rex, Rachel and I decided it was time to see what all the fuss was about concerning this whole Toy Story 3 palaver. So we accidentally ate two platters the size of Jupiter between the both of us, with Rex and I having a beer followed by half a bottle of wine each. We then swoozed over to the cinema, which has mysteriously turned into a Cineworld and seemed to have declined in efficiency and the staff increased in stupidity. Though do, however, provide a membership card where for 13.99 a month you get unlimited movies. Which, now I think of it, we should of used, as with Orange Wednesday, two tickets were 13 quid or to see Toy Story 3 in all it's Three Dimensional glory.
Rather than contemplate the irreparable damage done to various livers I may possess, I decided to meet up with the Katies for one last send off. After wandering in a lost manner around Oxford St, we tried to aim towards Angel, but ran out of energy so fell into a little pub near Russell Square, where we had a few recovery pints and crisps. Before long we found ourselves near the Holborn Bar One, so we got a drink and some food. The Fish and Chips I got were of suspicious construction, i.e. cylindrical in nature. Still very nice.
As one would imagine, it's best that we never talk about yesterday, or perhaps today. As I think every part of me is broken, and stuffed with food/beer.
Because my emo self-harming for myself and all my organs has peaked at the age of 25, it seemed best to wake up early on the Saturday morning after such a Lexingtonian night and head to a beer festival (though for once I changed clothes). Bust out with Rex, and appeared moderately on time near Earls Court where there was a whole gaggle of people waiting for us. Or at least there should of been, but most people fail at getting places on time, so we got our tickets from Jon and waited for the rabble of people to come into existence.
As with most things in my life, escalation is the normal state of affairs one can expect when out with me. Meeting up with the Katies after work, I sauntered along from the office up to Exmouth market, and burst through their front door, except I was there before they were. Needless to say we chillaxed on the balcony, overlooking St Paul's, drinking some cold beer. Soon we'd drunk the place dry (all 4 beers worth), so we ventured out into the bleak London night, and fell into a weird pub along the 'market' which offered an interesting range of beer, and some weird furniture. It sort of just felt like a room with tables and chairs in, but was somehow trendier. Very wooden and Red Katie thought it was a lot like a skiing chalet, but I suspect that might have been the painting/photo of a huge snowie mountain range.
In an ever increasingly zealous project by my company to destroy all sleep and liver functionality I may possess, my dev team had an away day in the Hospital Club, much to my delight. Not only did we get a surprisingly awesome meeting with out directors, but they paid for our drinks the rest of the night, which resulted in everyone getting rather drunk. It was probably the beer that did it. Unfortunately, I missed the last tube home, after watching my team lead attempt to sprint from Holborn to Waterloo in 15 minutes to get the last train. Luckily, I bought a kebab from the shop next to Burger King on Kingsway, which at the time may have tasted good, halfway through I decided it belonged in the bin more than in my stomach.
Then I had to survive the 25 journey to Stratford with no phone battery, and a swinging brain stem. Not great. That’ll learn me.
To avoid the practical complexities of being sensible, Rex and I met up in the Roadhouse after work to make sure their cocktail happy hour still worked. Needless to say it certainly did, even when DJ appeared from no where (although he did initially find himself in the PorterHouse). As we were very sensible and responsible we only ended up having 4 or so cocktails each, and then chose a healthy alternative to a home-cooked meal.
We had KFC.