My tenure here in London was finally rewarded with a beautifully sunny day yesterday that we had to take advantage of. We had spent all morning getting our couch into the living room (having spent the last 3 months in my room). This was not an easy process as the hallway was too narrow to manoeuvre it through the door and when we stood it up it clashed with the glass panel above the door. The only 2 solutions were to either remove the glass panel or bring it in through the window. Being up on the first floor the second option was not preferred so I took it upon myself to try the second. In the end I had removed the glass pane and door frame and 4hrs later we managed to squeeze it through. By this time it was about 1pm and my cousin and I had decided to set out for some well earned beers and lunch.
I invited along the girl I have been seeing and in no time we were sitting in a beer garden in Wimbledon Village with our first pint of Staro (for those wondering Staropramen is a very nice Czech beer that a lot of pubs serve over here – in fact it has replaced Kronenberg 1664 as my first choice). The sun was shining, the drinks were flowing and the randomness was occurring. There was a guy painting the street and our table was included in his painting. I was stoked to find we were actually in the painting (well the back of us anyway). After I had spoken to the man about what I actually thought of the painting he took it upon himself to remove us from it and replace us with some old fogies. The beer garden is right next to the Wimbledon Stables so it was rather amusing to see the poor stable hands have to come out and clean up the horse mess with many drunken hecklers.
Although I have been meaning to have a traditional Sunday roast from a pub here (even as it was beef with Yorkshire pudding) I was swayed by the burger adding Brie cheese and bacon, and a side of chips. I must say it was a rather tasty burger.
Once the sun went down we decided to head (stagger) back down the hill and for some reason stopped for a drink at an Irish bar. My cousin kept going to catch the +1 of big brother (which he is addicted to). For some reason he thinks a cross dressing blind man, an American albino who talks like a gangster, and a fake wedding between a 19 year old glamour and a 42 year old hairy Italian is entertainment. (Although I must admit the Tourettes winner from a couple of years ago was hilarious).
The thing with Irish bars is that people are either really drunk or working there (not necessarily separate). I don’t know what was funnier. The old guy who fell off his stool many times (to his credit never spilt a drop), the guy who ordered a shot with every beer to pour over his head or the lady who was serenading (rather loudly) her poker machine in order for it to pay out (I don’t actually think she put any money in). What was stranger, these individuals, or us for not thinking anything unusual was occurring (I had to ask about it today for confirmation that I hadn’t dreamt it up)?
After we left the Irish bar it seemed like a good idea to grab some more alcohol and head home to order a pizza. I would be lying if I could tell you what was on the pizza or what actually occurred after we ate it but I do remember stumbling into bed around 2am.
Deservingly I woke up at 9.30 with a massive hangover. Rather than take the day off I foolishly jumped on a train for work. At lunch today I took my full hour and went for a sleep in the park. I was woken up by a dog licking my face only to realise I had missed the start of a meeting (lucky for me it had been cancelled). Why is it that the days you know are going to be slow always turn into massive workloads after a previous night of indiscretion?
I thought about the day and was pretty happy a traditional Perth style Sunday Session had been achieved – minus the Cott/OBH and late night kebab. I don’t actually think there will be too many more Sunday Sessions, as while I type this my head is pounding and knowing I should have been home over an hour ago....
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