…was the first thing I semi-uttered, semi-groaned at about 6 o’clock when ‘the chocolate brown alarm clock’ [me doggit] jumped on my head [as he does] on Sunday, er, [yes, it was definitely] MORNING! Proceeded by ‘lick, lick, lick, lick, lick, lick, lick!’ So of course I retreat under the duvet to avoid the saturation of slobber, and he shovels his schnoz under so he can still get to me…
This was shortly followed by ‘aaaaaaaargh’, as I realised I’d barely had an hour’s sleep!
Yes, yes, me quiet Satdee arve drink got a bit out of control, you might say. Thing is, I had 3 things to attend, so figured, if I ‘start early’, it won’t turn into anything drastic and I’ll be in bed before midnight! Yes, well, it’s good to try to fool yourself occasionally… Self-restraint issues, me?!
Furthermore, I thought I’d eliminate the potential overindulgence by combining 2 of the events – one being a birthday bash, the other, watching the Bledisloe Cup. So, I turned up to the birthday bash, where, well, everyone was watching the rugby. So at ten to five, I had a Guinness in me paw – not a big fan of ‘Australian’ Guinness [having sampled ‘the real thing’ for a good four years or so], but it was miserable, rainy, er, Dublish weather, so it seemed fitting enough. Oh, and we were in one of Brisbane’s [40,000] Irish pubs [Dub Vegas anyone?]. By 9ish [who can be sure?], when all was said and done [yes, yes, we lost – again – but hey, it was slightly better than the last match, and well, I’m not a big Union fan ANYWAY… lame excuses notwithstanding… And, it’s always good to hang shit on the kiwis we were seemingly surrounded by regardless of the outcome. Besides, it’s the only game they can play, so we may as well let them have their glory, while we kick their arse in gee, any other sport in the world – bar ‘animal loving’ in a kiwi sense I suspect! And, I’d rather be beaten by the All Blacks than the Sprinboks… [close brackets, breathe], I was ready to move on.
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Anyway, I’d switched to VLSs [vodka, lime and soda] by this stage, and we’d sneakily thrown down a ‘shooter’ – a Cocksucking Cowboy for me [oh yeah!] and a ‘surprise’ for Chris [Opal Nero, Midori and Cointreau, which, judging by his scrunched up face, he thought it divine! Oops] So I said to Chris, it’s time to move on. We’d had some pub grub, so the stomach was suitably lined, and I had no clue of pubs to visit in the CBD, so I said, ‘let’s go across the road [to the Treasury Casino] and gamble’! Or, did he suggest it? I honestly can’t recall. I said, ‘Sagittarians are renowned for gambling and embezzling funds – bring it on!’. ‘And if I’m gonna stand around gambling, I wanna, drink a Cosmo!’ ‘In a proper glass – y’know, the conical martini type’… So he says encouragingly, ‘you do that’.
We head across and find ourselves in what can only be described as the world’s smallest, and least opulent, casino, with live music drowning out the bleeping and tinkling sounds of a thousand pokies [‘fruit machines’, ‘one-armed bandits’, call them whatyouwill – money guzzlers?] and I have something of a d