That Kenny, he likes a stout so he does. Anyway, you'll all be cheered to know I found my glasses, they were under the couch. Dave's theory goes that I came in last night and fell asleep on the sofa and threw my spectacles from my face in a fit of drunken barbarity.
He's probably right too.
Anyway, sat here on my day off with the usual drunkenness to report. Took myself to a number of aleing houses yesterday with the mucker.
The Ha'penny Bridge Inn and The Bankers proved non-runners, so back with us to the Kehoes snug and pissedo drunko lockedo fuckedo was got. Johnny Ward was there, glorying in Cheltenham, and we were soon joined by Brian and Vik, and Richie and Dave D and the man known only as Ken Mackenzie. A worthy addition to our coterie.
One Burger King later and I don't remember the rest. Had pointed towards more of the same today with Ollie, but the two of us agree that one night's destroyedness will do us, so I'm sat in Forbes Quay, still with no NTL, and planning where to get some grub.
Oh, and the Glenn Medeiros feature went down a treat. If there's any other obscure Eighties singer or actor you want profiled, give me a shout. Better that than doing any actual work.
Cheese of the week: Crozier Blue.
Things I don't give a shit about:
1) The washing machine being ridiculously loud on its spin cycle.
2) Music criticism. Objectivity rules!
3) Getting my hair cut. Putting it off for weeks with no sign of action.
4) Cheltenham. I really couldn't give a bollix.
5) Rugby. This is going in every one of these lists from now on.
7) The films of David Lynch.