Yes sirree Bob, a bad aul knock out here.
Can't take much more of this ailment, sat since Monday with the mother of all unwellnesses. Still, when it's time to blog, it's time to blog...
Took off for Germany on Friday morning last, and dammit if we weren't boozing in Dublin Airport at 5.46am in the morning. I checked. Hit Heidelberg after a poxy delay and met up with the Kenny lad, who had sportingly taken the day off to get myself and Johnny and Kev very fucked up indeed.
German beer is great. Ein Pils bitte! See? Fluent after a stein. Lightweight that I am I had to take a nap after a few crafty ones in the apartment, but Brian had left directions most accurate and it wasn't long before the cloudy me met the lads in the Mecca of O'Reilly's for an evening of even cloudier merry-making.
The photos tell the tale, the reddening of my facial features testament to our imbibance. Mention must go to Kev for overcoming the hurdle of lesbianism, while myself and John indulged in the finest of scotches - Oben to its takers - at EUR8.00 a pop.
Saturday took us back to our spiritual home for the rugby (I still couldn't give a rat's ass, by the way) and myself and Stef went searching for the muzak of David Hasselhoff. No joy. He's not as popular over there as various websites, press releases, TV shows and promotional stickers would suggest.
On then to the sightseeing part. We took a long walk down the river and caught the beauteous sights on the other side. Kev, meanwhile, busted up his leg while trying to mount a tree but he was inebriated so didn't care. Brian accompanied me as I bought a couple of novelty steins from a midget with fine Americanised English, and we then proceeded to Sean Og's and then The Dubliner.
At this point you're probably wondering why we didn't sample some proper Germanic hostelries. I don't really have an answer for this, save that we went where we were told and had a damn fine time being compliant.
I bowed out early enough and got myself into a taxi, beered back in the apartment some more and was soon joined by the boys, themselves the worse for the tear.
So, Sunday was the Blackburn game (cheers for putting us through that Kev) and goodbye to O'Reillys. Special mention at this point must go to the barmaids Anne and Niamh, both of whom filled out my journal with relish. More of that anon when I fish it out, but a part of me dreads to see our drunken scribblings.
Then the plane home, more delays, Pikey picked us up and listened to our drunken meanderings with patience and good humour before putting her boys to bed.
Monday - work - beginnings of all the 'symptoms of cold and flu' - Tuesday - written off with all the 'symptoms of cold and flu' - today much the same but at least I've blogged.
And I'm agasp at how much of it I remember.