One of my fellow drinkers from local pub had one too many pints of Bulmers this evening. When leaving the pub for a cigarette, my friends and I thought it would be very funny to call the drunkard a taxi, even though he only had one pound and seven pence in his pocket. In our defence, he was incapacitated and needed a ride home!
As time went on, we thought he was going to disappear, and the evil plan would be foiled. However, as he staggered out the pub door into the night, a barman shouted into his face “Taxi for Byron!” The poor, confused soul put his hand into the air and said “I’m Byron”.
He hasn’t been seen since. I don’t know if he made it home, and if he did; how his taxi fare was paid.
Keep off the alcohol, kids.
I have now finished for Christmas and New Year. I do not return to work until the second week of 2008.
Today was pointless. There was nothing to do. We kicked a mini-football around the office (broke a few things), before walking down to a local pub to have a Christmas pint.
I have wrapped all my presents, and am now counting down the hours to 6pm when I’ll be going down the pub again. In the meantime, I may go into town and laugh at all the last minute crimbo shoppers; fighting to buy their gifts in time. Then I’ll go to the airport and laugh at all those stranded travellers, stupid enough to book a holiday at Christmas time.
I spent the day winding up my colleague Sam at work. Friday night, the whole network team went out to La Flamenca; and while most of us went home after our meal, a few went to a pub where the drinks flowed.
By all accounts, Samuel had one too many shots of Schnapps. I received the news of his drunken escapades, and spent most of today making the poor lad paranoid about what he may, or may not have said while intoxicated.
Good thing Bath City were playing away on Saturday, and I decided to leave at 11pm; otherwise I too may have been regretting a late, drunken Friday night.
A photo (alleged) to have been taken of Sam on Friday
This evening I went to Bath Rugby ground to watch the annual firework display. It was rather impressive, and the only time The Rec has seen anything resembling entertainment since last year’s fireworks. My only gripe is that I thought the 25 minute display was quite short. Also, like when you go to an aeroplane display or the motor-racing, you secretly hope for an accident (or is that just me?). There weren’t any burn victims or stray rockets flying into Bath’s buildings, so no excitement this year.
After the fireworks, we went to Nandos and then off to the local pub. Simon, his Tottenham-loving friend and I had a game of pool. I was typically dire (I always am at pool), although I still insist Simon cheated by blocking the white ball, he aimlessly hit with hit, with his hand; thus preventing it from going into the net (is ‘net’ the correct term?).
A rare moment when Simon didn’t feel the need to cheat
Thank God I am home! Today was hellish. I felt shattered, and as the day dragged on and on, my fatigue got worse and worse. As I said this morning, I wasn’t drunk last night, so refuse to put it down to a hangover; more a case of working far too hard (hahaha), or the excuse Peter Griffin (from Family Guy) once gave… “I’m just exhausted ’cause I’ve been up all night drinking.”
Anyway, I’m feeling better now and am about to go out… to the pub.
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
