Haven't had any flashmob stuff for a while and haven't had a whiff of Jacko tribute so here's a combo of the two.
Moog... you want a worse story than that? How about getting so tanked up on Leffe that you walk out of a bar forgetting to take your partner... who's also your fiancée... on their birthday... and only realise when you arrive home.
Roni, the fact you still talk to me after that is testament to your supreme tolerance, divine forgiveness and blind faith that certain men will eventually grow up and better themselves. That said, things do seem to get better with us every year. But perhaps that's because they don't serve Leffe in our local.
Happy birthday, wifey. xx.
The humiliation has now subsided enough for me to share with you lovely people what has to be the worst evening out in the world, ever. Although if any of you think you can top it, please, please try. It would be nice to know I'm not alone in finding myself in these situations.
One night I went for drinks after work with loads of the other trainees, then on to another bar with fewer of the others, then back to mine with a couple of the others… my alarm had gone off before we finished pouring the drinks.
Anyway, as you all know I am a complete lightweight, and 14 hours drinking would have killed a proper drinker. So Saturday was spent sleeping and gradually feeling worse and worse. But I had already arranged to go to the theatre that night (with one of the guys who had been out with me) and decided we should still go.
As I realised how tricky walking had become I should have turned back. When I realised I couldn't eat, at all, I should have turned back. When we were taking turns to stand over the bell in case we needed to jump off the bus to be sick, I should have turned back. But no.
So, the play was the Cherry Orchard at the Old Vic. The first act was pretty strange – a Russian family who had lost all their money were offering me drinks I didn't want, then playing clips of movies and stuff… OK, so I slept through the entire first half. Come the interval I woke up when everyone started clapping, and joined in enthusiastically. That was a mistake – way too much movement. As the rest of the row filed out to the bar, I sat in my seat and quietly threw up the entire contents of my stomach (fortunately that only consisted of some ribena). With lightening reflexes I grabbed a cup from the floor, and turned round to discover blokes reflexes were even faster, and he had legged it.
So I walked through the theatre, past the very dressed up patrons, carrying a cup of "ribena" and hoping no-one would notice the damp patch on my jeans.
By the time I got back for the second half bloke was back, with tissue (it was all he could think of which might be helpful). I felt much better, so then sat through the second act (which was actually very good) covered in vomit (which was actually not very good).
Do you think I should write and apologise to Mr Spacey?
Saw this ad today in central Bristol and did a Roger Moore in Moonraker-style double take. Had someone really come up with that slogan in an ad agency brainstorm? Had some hapless Account Handler had to try and sell in this concept to some unwitting client? Had some client actually agreed to go ahead with the campaign? And was it the work of Timmaaay?
There was another, less funny, one further along the street about Tango giving you ginger pubes or something. Anyone seen any more of this campaign out and about? Or does anyone else have any more examples of silly ads to share?
Quote of the day...
Oscar's birthday cake procession was taking far too long in his estimation so he stood up, put his hands on his hips and bellowed: "Bring it to me."
Happy birthday, lovely lad. This really has been your blossoming year when the quiet, contained and brooding observer gave way to the dynamic, spidey-leaping, sword-brandishing, Ben 10 alien-bashing, happy scrapping, affectionate entertainer.
Your parents are beyond smitten. Knowing you is a daily delight. xx
Evenin' all!
Nice country we live in.
Mind how you go.
Call me sad, but as I delved into the fantastic Lebowski book that the Perts gave me for my birthday, I came across an intriguing picture of what looked like a miniature Persian rug with a computer mouse on it. My first thoughts were that this was simply a clever idea that had been brilliantly photoshopped. However, when I googled 'rug mousemat', I came across a company that produces genuine patterned MouseRugs.
I decided to skip past the Native American style ones and pip for more of a true Lebowski-style Persian. And if anyone tries to pee on this one, there'll be trouble.
It really ties the room together.
I had all these plans to get up early and create a magical mystery trail from your bedroom to your presents with little chocolate surprises along the way and a special note for you to read.
But you got up earlier.
So very early.
Yet who could be cross to see your beaming, mischievous face? Even when you licked my nose to wake me up.
Happy birthday, my love. Please make your next one arrive a little slower. xx.
