8 hours is the length of time I spent in one pub on Sunday. In that space of time I could have pub crawled the whole of Aberdeen or travelled to the other side of the world with multiple stop offs and many a bad plane meal and pissin in holes in the ground. I could even have had a marathon sex romp in that time. Fuck, no sorry I thought I was talking about 8 minutes so maybe not. I wouldn’t have cared if I had actually shuffled my seating placement around slightly or gone wandering to check out hot people but no, aside from 3 toilet stops, I remained in the same seat, cosy as hell after my fat arse had nested itself into the leather, for 8 hours. Longer than the amount of hours I work in a week, almost. That’s why I have had serious problems with walking over the past few days. It was a fab night though. It passed without catastrophe, dilemma or major event but was wicked. It was my 3rd night drinking in a row and for someone who drinks in small quantities, pukes in vast quantities and has a bout of nasty chronic fatigue (no, not just cos it’s trendy) then you will understand why this is a feat I have never pulled off in my life before. After having spent 2 nights in bed company with Beautiful Boy I was wrecked and ragey as hell and all I could think about was sleep, and plenty of it. However, after spending too much time at home doing trivial things that seemed impossible such as tidying and washing my hair, I decided to meet Beautiful Boy for a glass of pop, nothing stronger and the full fat version for the sugar rush. Entering Vodka Bar I knew I could not shame myself or those around me by sippin on cheap draught cola and instead started on the pitchers of beer. It seemed more economical because I’m sure 2 pints lasts longer than a glass or 2 of coke. It also gave me the strength to endure the boring bastard that bought lots of drinks to compensate for his lack of personality. What a wonderful night and how many times did I get told I was hot? Way too many, could give a girl a big head you know. I will not complain however. Oh we saw someone getting the funniest kickin’ in history. Two guys are chasing this one guy giving it high kicks and everything. Fuck it was like something out of Charlie’s Angels only they were hell ugly and there was no chance of them landing in the splits and getting back up again. But what the hell was that all about? If you are gonna pretend you know Judo at least don’t fall backwards when you pull of a kick that goes higher that your calf. I know why I hate that end of town (the Justice Mill Lane end). One street has more wankers on it than a sperm bank gets donors in a year.
Back later for tales from the sand dunes.