Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Sightly more than a mouthful!

Wooo! What a weekend! A 12 hour bender! It's like being a student again!

After several pints whilst watching our brave chaps giving the Italians a swift and resounding kicking at the rugger we decided to go for an afternoon's constitutional and take in the sights and sounds of Camden Town's bustling bazaar, however after only a brief foray into the early evening sunlight we decided that the strain was too much and we would have to have "one for the road" in a passing public house. One, it seems means, three and a "constitutional" appears to imply staying in the pub and reading random tombs from yesteryear in some form of bastardised, alcohol fueled, Jakanory session, including expertly read passages from such literary masterworks as "Dude Woman" and "A Piper's Remorse"! After we had had our fill of popular literature we decided there was still time for our brisk walk in the nations capital, however our minds changed quickly when we realised it was dark and we couldn't be bothered. Instead we decided to gather the various constituents required for a game created only the previous night by several of our party who evidently had far too much time on their hands.

This game of skill was know only by the mysterious title of "Slightly more than a mouthful"! After buying a six pack of that bastion of drinking games, Fosters and a large quantity of vodka of a dubious quality we head back to the flat. Upon arrival the rules of the aforementioned game where spelled out to us in all their complexity. The complexity being you had to sit on the sofa, hands on knees with a tumbler in front of you on the floor, containing, as one might expect, slightly more than a mouthful of beer. The challenge was to drink the slightly over-sized shot down and place it back on the floor in the shortest time possible, a feat which sounds simple in theory but I assure is much more difficult in its execution!


Needless to say this game coupled with the dubious vodka lead to a comfortably high position on the funky inebriation scale. We soon left the flat and headed to what can only be described as the greatest club I have ever seen, a barely converted opera house with the worlds largest disco ball.


In the words of some great dude " 'nuff said ", anyway after some crazy dancing,



a game of stick in the mud, and large amounts of cheap sambuuca,


we returned home.

The next morning, to our utter shock, no one had a hangover. Proving once and for all that dancing and alcohol are good for you!


I rest my case!
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