So the weekend it starts off with a bang and finishes on an almighty explosion that wipes out mankind and.. um.. everybody else.
Friday: Mexicana's Bday. Dinner at the Bellevue Hotel, I never want to see another beef chippolata again. Or smell one or have to shove one down my maw. Also when did security at karaoke get so tight? Its karaoke not an airport- I'm just saying. What am I going to hijack? a microphone??
Saturday: I'm too freaking croaky to go to work. I call in sick and my supervisor thinks I'm playing a joke on him. Sigh. So I lay back for the day recovering and then head off to Bamboo.
The best thing about Bamboo is undoubtedly Squishy the mascot panda, he does body rolls and makes coy movements with his paws. He also takes people tackling him quite nicely [far nicer than I'd be if random kept grabbing me for bear (panda?) hugs]. They play "Sweet Home Alabama" over the sound system, which should really tell you something about the club and the likelihood that I'll go back.
Sunday: Holy Fuck. It's seven in the morning. What am I doing at work? I can't keep my eyes open and I'm ridiculously trying to hide the stamp on my arm in a short sleeved shirt. I tell everyone I have the flu. Although I have to say I look quite ok for someone who hasn't slept for thirty hours [of course that might just be my contacts distorting from being in my eyes for the same amount of time]
Monday: It's dinner time and my parents fight over dinner. Everyone cries. The weekend is officially over.
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