Sakes. 9.24 of a Sunday evening and I'm laid up in the bed with the behemoth of all belly aches.
Can't quite sleep yet so figured I'd catch up on my correspondance, and lo and behold not a comment in sight on old Radgery. My own fault, of course, I've been lacksadaisical in the blogging stakes of late.
My month long festival of alement that was December turned itself into January with barely a pause for breath. Granted, New Year's Eve itself turned into the dullest night this side of October, with me flicking from Frasier to Scrubs to heaven only knows what, drinking cups of tea in the apartment, nursing a hoor of a hangover and staring wantonly across at the revelling hordes across the road.
Made up for it on Tuesday, myself and Richie doing an awful damage to the Long Stone before fixing on Q Bar - not a typo - and a group of sound Chinese lads. I danced like a dervish and got many, many withering glances from the chickenheads.
Rejection has never been so much fun.
Wednesday took it handy, while Thursday I got Mulliganed with the lads from work and Emma and Owen. Mention at this point goes to Charlie's on Westmoreland St, their Sweet And Sour is spot on.
Friday and I was ready for a quiet weekend with no carousing whatsoever, so went to O'Reillys and got destroyed. Usual suspects, Ward and Richie and Lisa and Ciara and Jay and Aaron and mercy me my head the next day! Such a to-do!
Otherwise, Liverpool are shit, my stomach's in knots and I'm off the booze for a week. I swear it.