A couple of the girls at work decided to organise a night out in central. Being the committed to work type of guy I am it was only fitting to attend. I headed in with 2 of the other guys in my team and met at a place called Bar Red next to Carnaby St. On arrival we were told that we were 2 drinks behind. It made perfect sense to me that I would have to down a pint and shot to catch up. For some reason they got me a shot of Wild Turkey thinking I might find it repulsive but was shocked when I complained it wasn’t the stronger tasting Rare Breed.
The group decided to all throw in for a kitty (which as a fairly reasonable drinker usually always works out in my favour). When we learned the destination of our dinner was closed for renovations we decided to skip looking for another place in favour of a more liquid meal.
Several drinks later we ventured off to the main act for the evening – Urban Golf. This basically involved you teeing up and hitting a ball at a giant image being projected onto a big screen. Somehow it calculates from where the ball contacts the screen, the direction, speed etc it is travelling and displays accordingly. It was quite a novel idea – especially after a few drinks.
What I have now come to realise is there is a direct relationship between how much alcohol has been consumed to how much ones ability (or lack of) deteriorates with a golf club. I must say that my putting was exceptional – especially considering I had forgone the putter option to roll the ball at the hole. My chipping improved when again I rid my self of the club in favour of a decent throw. Unfortunately I must throw like a girl because on the drive I couldn’t seem to throw all that far. This brought on my Happy Gilmore style and although I had to jump a small barrier on my run up – I produced the best drives of the day.
We certainly must have been playing rather slow as in 2hrs we only managed three and a half holes. I don’t exactly remember where we went after leaving but I know I was buying drinks (completely forgetting the kitty) and a few lasses (unknown to me) threw an order in with mine. They thanked me and walked off but it was only later someone told me what they had done.
After a couple of more bars we eventually decided to call it an evening. As it was rather late, I was not sure exactly what time only that I had missed the last tube home (1am). It was apparent that I had to try and get the night bus. Being the former Boy Scout my preparedness was rather shallow as I had no clue where it left from or what number to get. Deciding to follow my mate who lives in Kingston in the direction of his stop I was fortunate enough for an offer to crash on his couch. Jumping on the bus, we set off. The thing with the bus is it goes in every direction before arriving at your destination.
We began chatting but after an hour my mate had nodded off to sleep. He had told me it would be about 2 hours to reach his place so I decided to watch the scenery go by. A couple of minutes later I realised we were going past Wimbledon station. What luck I had thought jumping up to get off. I pressed the bell and tried to wake up my mate. His snoring got louder. Shaking him violently and lifting his eyelids did nothing so I decided to leg it off the bus and send him a text message.
I sent the message and decided to grab an evening delicacy for the short walk home. Within minutes I arrived home, kebab in hand and dropped to find my resting place on the couch.
My phone woke me the next morning with an SMS. I sat up with half the kebab encrusted on my face and some Saturday morning cartoons in the background. My mates reply to my message was a confused “What the hell are you talking about?” so I went into my sent messages and looked at the one I had sent “Got off on Bus so no need to come back to urs cheers anyway.”
It took a little explaining to get out of that one especially considering he didn’t remember us getting a bus home at all.
The group decided to all throw in for a kitty (which as a fairly reasonable drinker usually always works out in my favour). When we learned the destination of our dinner was closed for renovations we decided to skip looking for another place in favour of a more liquid meal.
Several drinks later we ventured off to the main act for the evening – Urban Golf. This basically involved you teeing up and hitting a ball at a giant image being projected onto a big screen. Somehow it calculates from where the ball contacts the screen, the direction, speed etc it is travelling and displays accordingly. It was quite a novel idea – especially after a few drinks.
What I have now come to realise is there is a direct relationship between how much alcohol has been consumed to how much ones ability (or lack of) deteriorates with a golf club. I must say that my putting was exceptional – especially considering I had forgone the putter option to roll the ball at the hole. My chipping improved when again I rid my self of the club in favour of a decent throw. Unfortunately I must throw like a girl because on the drive I couldn’t seem to throw all that far. This brought on my Happy Gilmore style and although I had to jump a small barrier on my run up – I produced the best drives of the day.
We certainly must have been playing rather slow as in 2hrs we only managed three and a half holes. I don’t exactly remember where we went after leaving but I know I was buying drinks (completely forgetting the kitty) and a few lasses (unknown to me) threw an order in with mine. They thanked me and walked off but it was only later someone told me what they had done.
After a couple of more bars we eventually decided to call it an evening. As it was rather late, I was not sure exactly what time only that I had missed the last tube home (1am). It was apparent that I had to try and get the night bus. Being the former Boy Scout my preparedness was rather shallow as I had no clue where it left from or what number to get. Deciding to follow my mate who lives in Kingston in the direction of his stop I was fortunate enough for an offer to crash on his couch. Jumping on the bus, we set off. The thing with the bus is it goes in every direction before arriving at your destination.
We began chatting but after an hour my mate had nodded off to sleep. He had told me it would be about 2 hours to reach his place so I decided to watch the scenery go by. A couple of minutes later I realised we were going past Wimbledon station. What luck I had thought jumping up to get off. I pressed the bell and tried to wake up my mate. His snoring got louder. Shaking him violently and lifting his eyelids did nothing so I decided to leg it off the bus and send him a text message.
I sent the message and decided to grab an evening delicacy for the short walk home. Within minutes I arrived home, kebab in hand and dropped to find my resting place on the couch.
My phone woke me the next morning with an SMS. I sat up with half the kebab encrusted on my face and some Saturday morning cartoons in the background. My mates reply to my message was a confused “What the hell are you talking about?” so I went into my sent messages and looked at the one I had sent “Got off on Bus so no need to come back to urs cheers anyway.”
It took a little explaining to get out of that one especially considering he didn’t remember us getting a bus home at all.
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