The theme for this month seems to be “getting fucking robbed” (with a refrain of, “No I still don’t have a fucking bank card FUCK!”). Everyone seems to be having their shit stolen recently. For instance, in the Powers on Friday, Air Guitar Champion (another one of our friendly herd of Australians) had his mobile stolen – right off the table, right under all our drunken noses.
We did a lot of frantic searching (stumbling) around and formed various perhaps slightly outlandish theories about who the perpetrator might be. Suspicion settled on one particular individual, who was being a bit of a pain in the ass and had managed to pick arguments with about three of our group over the course of the evening. So, because WE FUCKING OWN THE PLACE, MOTHERFUCKERS, we got the bouncer to search him as he went out the door.
“Can I just check what you have in your bag, please?”
“What? I don’t have anything. Just this flounder.”
At this he pulled an entire raw flounder out of his bag by the tail. This cheered Air Guitar Champion immensely, as it did me. Speculating about why this gentleman was carrying a whole, unwrapped flatfish in his bag has caused me no end of delight. (Perhaps the phone was in the flounder! What a cunning criminal mastermind!)
The Aussies certainly earned their keep this weekend, anyway. With the help of Music Man, they managed to move all SiC’s worldly goods from his flat to mine – just for the record, that’s down three flights of stairs and then up two – in less than two hours. It’s amazing how fast Australians will move if you promise them lager. So, by 9.00 on Friday night, I was officially cohabiting, and the Aussies were officially way fucking drunk. Good news all around!