On Saturday I nearly had a heart attack watching the FA Cup final, then I went off to meet my folks, which was nice; afterwards I stopped in for a nightcap at the Powers, and someone had a cute hat, and I was wearing it? and then I was dancing on my chair? and then I was getting hugged by Australians a lot? and then someone threw a drink all over me, and there was nearly a fight? and then I went home? Things get a little hazy after that.
Sunday was more family action, and then another ‘quick’ nightcap that again wound up being an increasingly attenuated string of events that makes very little sense retrospectively. All I know is, we got adopted by a couple who looked a bit like Pete Doherty and Kate Moss, except she spoke with an American accent because she’d gone to school in Singapore, and somehow we all ended up at a heavy metal bar on Charing Cross Road. And also at some point we wound up talking to a Brazilian and the manager of the hotel we stayed at in Hamburg, but I think SiC is making that up because I don’t remember it at all. Apparently I was extremely drunk: the next morning SiC did an impression of me that involved a lot of flailing and slurring, but I choose to believe he was exaggerating for comic effect.
Yesterday on a whim we went to watch the cricket at Lord’s, and I tried very hard to enjoy it, but my eyeballs felt like they were going to explode and also I know only enough about cricket to be almost certain that it is not a species of insect. People threw balls, and other people hit them with big funny bats, and there was yelling. And then people threw balls, and other people hit them with big funny bats, and there was yelling. And then I think I passed out for a bit, and when I woke up people were throwing balls, and other people were hitting them with big funny bats, and there was yelling. Then they stopped because it was getting dark. I don’t think I learned anything about cricket yesterday, but I learned that seven hours is a very long time.