Had another work's do on Friday. Well it was meant to be a work's do. The majority of the work faction dropped out and, as there needed to be a minimum number of people, Lavi, my team leader, recruited various relatives instead, so I was essentially at someone else's family reunion. I have not somehow become good at bowling since the last time I played. The place was classier than the bowling alley I used to work at, with a distinct absence of spotty charvas drinking white lightning outside the entrance. Ended up in the karaoke lounge. A mic was thrust into my hand and I was asked to sing Living on a Prayer. The noise that came out my mouth was not singing as such, more the lowing of a depressed cow as it is led to the abattoir. I blame the choice of song.
Bob was off wining and dining a young lady. However, it wasn't a date. Or maybe it was. He was a bit confuddled over this point prior to leaving and remained so upon his return. Regardless he's meeting up with her again in the near future, with a promise to teach him to bake. This seems to indicate that she enjoys his company. This is just as well, as I predict Bob will be shite at at baking.
Because I suck and will probably remain single until Britain has sunk the sea, I did nothing so interesting yesterday, and instead stayed in the hostel. Had a few drinks. I was a bit drunk. Correction, I got drunker than I have been for years. The sort of drunk where the world lurches from side to side and the only noise you can make is a slippery rush of vowels, words now being beyond you. I cannot stress enough that this wasn't intentional. I can normally gauge how much I can drink tolerably well and I'm long past the age where drinking till I pass out holds any sort of attraction. I would like to blame food poisoning or some other factor, but unfortunately I'm going to have to chalk it up to me being a wanker. I somehow managed to make it to my room. At which point I spewed. This may count as my lowest ebb thus far and I am not my favourite person at the minute. Luckily today's hangover has managed to block out the sense of shame that I can feel squatting at the back of my mind like a toad.
The moustache is still present. I call it Arthur and have got into the alarming habit of stroking it when lost in though. I am counting down the days till I can shave it off. I have gained a new pair of glasses, which apparently make me look like Jarvis Cocker and lost the USB charger for my e-reader, which is, it must be said, a bugger.
I'm sure other stuff's gone on, but at the moment I'm too groggy to remember them.
Love and Fishes
Dave Denton
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