Mr. White had his annual birthday, and for a change from his normal routine, decided to go drinking in town *snigger*. Unlike his usual piss-ups, I was obliged to go along – probably due to the fact it was his birthday, and unless you’re the Queen, you only get one of these every 365.25 days.

While I enjoy a few pints in the local pub, I rarely frequent those based in town – mainly due to them being overpriced, overpopulated and overchaved. We started the night’s festivities in Weatherspoons – I was pleasantly surprised. They had a good selection of drinks, and lots of comfortable seating. I was also able to read the days news while taking a piss – some thoughtful person had stuck The Daily Mail to the wall, which makes a change from reading WAYNE WAZ ‘ERE.

Once Weatherspoon’s supply of Magners had run out, I decided (or rather, was told) that we were going to another pub – The Bell. The Bell is a nice “Real Ales Pub” on Walcott Street, and if I had my way, we would have spent the whole evening there. When we finally arrived (the walk seemed to take forever), I enjoyed a lovely pint of Bath Gem. Simon stayed off the booze, while everyone else drank themselves into an alcohol-induced coma.

When I had finished my pint it was time to leave. Simon and I had to make a stealth escape. In the past, my attempts to leave have been met by frustrated drunkards – mainly Mr. White.

I had planned on walking home, but due to consuming 3 pints, and the fact it was 10.30pm, Newbridge Road seemed a million miles away from Walcott Street. I got a taxi. Simon took a ride too. My journey home was spent listening to Mr. Goater and the driver discussing Robert DeNiro, The Chemical Brothers and the hours in which a taxi chauffeur works.

Still, that’s it for another year. Happy birthday Mr. White, don’t drink too much now… oh wait, you already did.