Early weekend

THURSDAY: The weekend started early with myself and him and a couple of mutuals wangling an invite to an advertising/marketing/meeja type bash at Just St James off Piccadilly. Ooh la lah. It was held by TCS Media for their tenth birthday. Our mate Dazzler was DJing at the event and they gave him some invites. The invites were for men specifically. That should have started warning bells ringing but I let myself be lured in by the prospect of free booze and nibbles.

Had a couple of drinks first in Davy's Wine Bar round the corner. Maybe three.
We swanked up to Just St James in our best corporate clobber - to be handed a little key on entering the bar. All the men had little keys. All the women had little padlocks. You get the idea....
There were some prizes to be had via raffle tickets obtained after a successful key-padlock interface scenario. They must have been good prizes because my evening was frequently punctuated by women thrusting their padlocks at me. Which irritated me somewhat, miserable curmudgeon that I am.
Made up for it by losing no time in swilling vast quantities of free champagne (and wine and spirits and beer). Got very drunk, very quick - we were the first on the dancefloor, gyrating about like fools, prancing about like tits and loving it.

Then there were speeches by the the two people who had originally set the company up. They talked of their trials and tribulations in starting the business. I got disturbingly emotional about it - 'oohing' and 'aahing' and cheering my head off at the appropriate places despite having never seen, spoken with or heard of any these people before in my life. It's amazing what alcohol does to me.

Made full use of all the games installed around the joint (casino, skill tests etc. Especially the Scalextric set, although I got quite aggressive about that...)

One of the padlock-profferers got lucky with my key, so I got bodily dragged to the raffle table to get our tickets. First prize was a holiday to somewhere I can't remember and I forget the other ones. I won nothing.

More dancing, a bit of ranting about politics, eating, a lot more drinking and some minor verbal rudeness to strange girls later, I spotted one of the founders and promptly accosted her and told her that I loved her speech, she must be very proud and good for her for perservering. I then located the other one and told him pretty much the same thing. I think I hugged them as well.

We rolled out at about one o'clock. I think. Fell into a cab and got turfed out at Elephant & Castle because I didn't have sufficient funds for the full journey. Staggered home down the Walworth Road and nearly got killed leaping across the road to the 24hr bagel shop. My last thoughts before passing out on my bed fully clothed and with the lights on was that although I am an idiot, I have never denied it. Might send it in to that quotes page in Reader's Digest.

FRIDAY: Hangover. Surprise, surprise. Having booked the day off to go to buy trendy gear in London's fashionable boutiques, I slobbed about the flat feeling sorry for myself and trying not to think about the things I said and did the previous night. Watched a bit of daytime TV - Sunset Beach and Trisha, mainly. I remember Sunset Beach from the first time it was on British TV - mostly cos there was this English guy in it who also played his evil twin brother who went around killing loads of people. Classic. Managed to prise myself out at about fiveish, having remembered that I organised a bash at The Press House Wine Bar in Blackfriars (can't find a website but it's about here) to celebrate the first paycheque of 2005.

Turned up a bit spaced out with the hangover but a few glasses of white wine sorted that out. It's a nice joint but it ain't cheap - one for the special occasions only, I think. There were various people from work, with some of my schoolmates and uni friends - so much of mix for some people that they thought it might be my birthday. Didn't stop 'em from not buying me a drink though. Much natter and drink including this delightfully poncey cider. So poncey, in fact, I nicked the glass. Naughty Scattergun.
There til closing then got dragged up to Ember in Farringdon for a 'nightcap'. Bad manoeuvre. Left there at an undisclosable time many hours later. Nipped into the 24hr shop for (ostensibly) a chicken and bacon focaccia and left with practically a week's shopping on me, having been gripped by an alcholic urge to buy lasagne, jam, bread, milk, bacon, twenty Dunhill's and a Cornish pasty, amongst other things.
Made it home with purchases intact except for half the pasty which I threw at a pigeon. But I don't remember ever having seen pigeons out at night in that part of town. I'm sure it was some kind of flying animal. Do you get bats in Central London?
It's probably not important.

SATURDAY: Yup, you guessed it.... Today's daytime TV included a bit of Midsomer Murders which I didn't know was repeated on a Saturday day. Hurrah. Think I missed Monk, though. Damn.

[ Just met this cute girl again at the office coffee machine. Red hair, North London accent, saucy smile. Quite lifted my day. 8o) ]

Anyway, Saturday was a write-off - planned on attending a birthday party at the Calf in Clapham but just too knackered. On the bright side, stayed in and watched Series 3 of The Sweeney. Jack "Bastard" Regan and George "Flash Dresser" Carter of the Flying Squad busting around the mean streets of London in Dagenham's finest motorcars, cracking the skulls of assorted villains and pulling the birds. Cool. That and The Professionals were nicely pastiched in a couple of Nissan Almera adverts (scroll down for RealPlayer goodness).

Cursor went off to Public Life for some techno-joy in the eve. Apparently it's in a converted toilet, as is a sandwich bar I used to go to on Putney Bridge, a nice restaurant on the Whitechapel Rd and a lovely club called Ginglik on Shepherd's Bush Green. Perhaps I shouldn't advertise the fact I frequent old toilets...

SUNDAY: Spending the wee small hours watching The Sweeney creates for interesting dreams. But having to undergo temporary plastic surgery to replace Carter on an undercover operation with Regan and stop a computer-planned bullion robbery in Baron's Court was a bit much for my tiny mind...
Laundry day. Mooch, mooch. Re-read a few Campion novels by Margery Allingham (about all my frazzled brain could stand.)

GAMEPLAN: Superego, Lungs and Stomach made noisy protestations at the weekly Sunday meeting and proposed the motion I should stay in next weekend. Liver joined in, achieving a quorum. Ego abstained, Id voted against. I'll have to see how this one shapes up.....