On Saturday I went out drinking in London with a friend who is my ex-lodger and my ex-drummer. It was an exceptionally drunken affair to mark his friend's birthday, and there are large sections of the evening that I can't remember.
I know that we started off in a pub, and then moved to a very fashionable bar. As a party we were then asked to leave the fashionable bar due to vomiting and we moved to another pub. In the bar it took a very long time to get served, and they didn't sell any draught beer. As though we didn't already look gay enough, to avoid too much queueing, my friend came back from the bar to our candlelit table with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
Neither of us knows what combination of night busses it takes to get from Clapham to Mitcham, but I know we did somehow get home. Neither of us knows where in deep south London we changed busses, but we both have a vague recollection of breaking our journey, eating a kebab and narrowly avoiding getting into a fight. I thought I could remember what the kebab shop looked like, it was on a corner and had huge windows, the lights were glamorous and inviting in the night. It turns out that I was actually thinking of a Hopper painting called Nighthawks.
Richard "hangover" B
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