Monday, September 08, 2008

Stag. Mouse. Holiday.

I am sat in my pit, paper strewn over my bed and clothes rakishly dumped on the floor, when our resident mouse shot under my closed bedroom door and behind my desk. I stood up to see what the speeding black blur was when it decided to shoot back under the door and into the sanctuary of under our fridge. I'd estimate that he propelled himself at about 60mph.

That motherfucker's been here for a year, and he's still not paying any rent.

In non-mouse related news, am pleased to say I've completed my seventh stag of recent times. I would also like to add to any would-be Phils reading that this is in no way a snubbing of your status of Stag, or indeed of the event itself. It's just that I've had my fill, Phil, of obscene drinking and £100+ nights out.

But it was fantastic. Friday night was spent in a rock pub where we all wore rock t-shirts. (I looked suitably incorrect in a baggy black Skid Row affair). We all moved on to Nandos where I got the shits, then on to the Intrepid Fox, formerly an old haunt of ours when it used to be a bog-standard bar called the Conservatory until it became a lesbian hangout (which was also great fun.) Now it is full of rather angry looking people with chains in their thoraxes jiving to Thrash and Death and Vom-Rock who were strangely polite when you talked to them.

Yet it was all rather bewildering as I thought that night was just a quiet precursor before the Saturday Stag, and not actually Stag Part 1. I avoided the Saturday morning football to get my haircut (I was called 'Cunt' several times for this) and headed back out to town on the Saturday where we went bowling. I managed to get a strike which counted for something. I also managed about four gutterballs and punched a wall. We then moved on to an O'Neills to watch England play Andorra (population: 4) where we made it look as if we were struggling against Brazil. Hippy Dave left midway because he felt sick, and never returned. We moved on again to Karaoke where I once again felt the urge to yell 'If I Were a bloody Rich Man'. We finished up in the LA2 nightclub where we had the misfortune to watch Rhys Fucking Ifans and his Sodding New Band (I have no idea of their actual name, but I would like to suggest that.)

We got a cab back to West London (from Tottenham Court Road via Buckingham fucking Palace), and Phil threw up out the window. Mission Accomplished.

I have no desire to calculate how much that debauchery cost me. I have a holiday in five days that I'm supposed to be saving for, and I regret to say I'm in an overdraft warzone already. I am going to be well and truly fucked (non-sexually) when I return.

And on that note, Martin, he of the would-be-joining-me-on-holiday-if-his-ankle-wasn't-broken camp, will be seeing a specialist on Wednesday. If he gets the thumbs up, he will indeed be joining me on a romp through Warsaw, Krakow, Prague, Vienna, Bratislava and Budapest - or a slightly scaled back version if time is against me/ us.

But at this stage, I will either be going it alone and feeling uncomfortable as I become an unwilling tourist (and I hate being a duck-out-of-water, where-the-hell-am-I? I-look-confused-and-naive unwilling tourist), or else not caring so much that I'm lost and being stamped on by the Polish mafia, because my mate's with me and he's getting stamped on too.

Don't get me wrong, I've travelled extensively on my own before - ahem - but this time it's all become a tad unplanned. I'm sorta excited though. Besides, the mouse deserves a little break.


The Unbearable Banishment said...

You flee London for a holiday and in two day I will arrive from the America. It’d be better for me if the U.S. dollar weren’t the laughing stock of Western Civilization but what the hell. You go when you can. Take your mighty British Pound to Europe and wreak some havoc. I’ll hold London in check while you’re away.

Trixie said...

What... you are taking the mouse with you?

Z said...

I'm just wondering about your new hairstyle.

Andrew said...

Bloody hell, Skid Row are reduced to playing on cruises. Oh how the mediocre have fallen (a very short distance).

Get a standard neck snapping mousetrap and bait it with peanut butter. Mice love peanut butter.

And death.


Anonymous said...

congrats on the strike... it means you have some modicum of american redneck genes coursing through your veins (not to disparage your relatives, mind you)

but your ratio is backwards - you punch the WALL four times for EACH gutterball.

you'll get it... keep rolling...

Giggle! said...

HAHAHAHA You're a funny bugger!

But don't hurt the mouse!!!!!

HELLO! I'm Giggle! :-)

A stranger came to me with an interesting meme that she created, a meme where you adopt 4 random bloggers from your friends blogrolls!

You were one of 4 boggers that I chose to adopt! (I found you from my Aunty's blog [Trixie])

So welcome to my blogroll! Heeeheee!

(Come and read my post if ya wanna know what the hell I’m on about!)

But don't feel obliged to follow my blog just because I'll be following you! xx

fwengebola said...

UB - Ahoy there. Actually, I doubt that the pound's that mighty any more. But enjoy the weather. And do go to La Porcetta, my favourite restaurant, in Holborn. And don't say "Lie-sester Square." It's pronounced Lester.
Trix - Yes, that didn't read very well.
Z - Short back and sides, generic man-cut.
'Drew - Peanut butter? Really? Yes, I was amused to see a hard-partying band (I'm assuming) stuck on a fancy ship for people with too much money. Rock n' Roll.
Df - I would've severely ruined the wall had I punched it three more times. It seemed made of plaster and MDF. Probably wouldn't've gone down well with management.
Gig - Hello Giggle. Yes, yes you are. I am already aware of you as I've seen your very happy cheerful blog before. I tend to lurk and never comment. Generic rule. Dunno why.

Z said...

Oh, fine. I just was wondering about its resemblance to a cunt. I had this slightly unfortunate mental picture.

fwengebola said...

I am shocked and disgusted by your language.

Z said...

I'm very glad to hear it. You are far too young for such depravity and I rejoice that your mind is uncorrupted.

If I'd known you were back in the country I'd have invited you to help me paint a flat (noun, not adjective). It would have been such fun.

fwengebola said...

Almost middle-aged is young now? And thanks for the opportunity to help you paint your noun.

Z said...

Young enough to be my child, you will never reach middle age until I leave it. I suspect you are not sorry to have missed your chance with the paintbrush, but maybe there will be another occasion.

fwengebola said...

Yes, I look forward to unpaid DIY for no reason. And stop replying. I am trying to clear my inbox!*

(* Do not feel obliged to stop replying. I am merely being a miserable git)

Z said...

You don't fool me, Fweng. Your charm shines through your sour words.

fwengebola said...