Thursday night drinking is for winners. Friday morning hangovers are for losers. I was both a winner and a loser last week.
Around came Thursday, and it was decided that Godders, Godders Jnr, Smithy and myself would head on into territories unexplored and discover the delights of Braintree, and more precisely, Chicago Rock Cafe. Godders decided he would drive over and allow the rest of us to partake in some alcohol. I think this was mainly due to his upcoming break in the sunnier climate of Gran Canaria, and his desire to actually have some spending money whilst there!
We arrived in Chicago’s, and promply started drinking in rounds. Only after about three drinks each did we realise that there was a kind of Bar FTSE going on. Smithy promptly rushed to the bar and purchased 3 brandy’s, which were retailing at around the 160 pence mark. Not content with ordering brandy for christ’s sake, he decided that a brandy turbo shandy would be appropriate, and poured his shot into his half lager / half Smirnoff Ice mix. I avoided this terrible concoction by necking my brandy as soon as it was handed to me. Godder’s Jnr wasn’t quite as fortunate, his brandy being – very kindly – poured into his drink by Smithy before he knew what was going on!
From that point it seemed that everytime the screen showing drink prices was displayed, one of us went straight to the bar and ordered the cheapest option. Fantastic. But I think we stopped short of that evil, evil drink, Aftershock. I’m sure someone once gave me some advice, which went along the lines of “Don’t mix your drinks.” But that person had never been to Bar FTSE obviously.
After drinking a few, my dutch courage increased and I started chatting to some random Braintree girls, not getting anywhere at all, and thats when the references to Dodgeball began, with Smithy, Godders and Godders Jnr giving me the ‘L for Love’ sign (Recipe: make an L shape with the thumb and forefinger of your right hand, and put it to your forehead) from across a not-so-crowded dancefloor, where they were proping up that particular section of bar. Well it was either chat to chicks or watch Smithy putting out cigarettes on his hand. Blistered nicely that one.
I wasn’t getting anywhere with the ladies, due to my particular brand of drunkeness, so I decided to divert my attentions back to drinking and constantly repeating the ‘L for Love’ motto we had adopted for the night, much to my amusement. After about 50 renditions of said motto, along with much random chat, it was about time to depart for the evening.
Godders at this point became a very tired, cranky shepherd, attempting in vain to round up his faithfull flock into his transport, which would eventually take us back to the slaugherhouse of pain which would be friday morning. He unfortunately needed a better trained sheepdog named Shep, as the sheep were not playing the game. Try as he may, we could not be rounded, and continued to evade capture for about twenty minutes, until he threatened to go home and strand us in Braintree.
Alas, the game was up, we boarded the Fiesta and Godders magically transported me from Braintree, to the next thing I remember, which was a whole world of pain about three and a half hours later when I rose from my drunken slumber, into the losers world of the Friday morning hangover.