"I think it was the breakfast."
"Definitely not the brandy or the beer or the wine or the four course meal containing rich foods, sauces, meats, chocolate and...?"
"It was the fucking breakfast."
Well whatever it was, it had me heaving and careening through the vacant pub toilets of Kilkenny, leaving a trail of uttermost radge in my wake yesterday. Safety came in the form of some little brown and green pills and I was able to resume with the beer, the grub and festivities, but I swear to jaysus I came rightly close to the touching of cloth.
Not nice. Not nice at all.
As for my little checklist of Thursday gone, let's have a looksee...
1) Will not sit under a tree for the best part of an hour, 300 yards from the action.
Successfully avoided. There was plush greenery aplenty but I eschewed it.
2) Will not drink brandy.
Unsuccessful. Hence some prized squits.
3) Will not dance.
Unsuccessful. It was late in the night and I can only barely recall it, but I don't think I broke any bones.
4) Will not sing, or play an instrument, or make any claims to poetry.
Successfully avoided, but my French accent went down a treat.
5) Will not be slapped.
6) Will not go for a nap.
Avoided. I paced myself well enough until the clock struck twelve.
7) Will avoid, most studiously, the creature known as Sea Bee.
Unsuccessful. Eyewitnesses tell me I sat down at her table for all of 28 seconds before I remembered myself and our last encounter and promptly ran screaming under the gaze of her dick shrivelling lasers of hate. This one wasn't for turning.