Beer =good, Cocktails =bad

Yes, another tale of drunkenness, but notice the length of time that has passed between this one and the last, at least a month, so I’m not doing too badly.

Thursday night was the Hudson drinks evening, Hudson are my recruitment agency and they invited all their temps to a local pub to thank them for working for sub-minimum wages while they lined their pockets with millions, just kidding, they’re a really cool company and I cant complain about anything, I think they look after their temps quite well, haven’t heard any complaints from anyone else. Anyways upon arrival I notice that the free beer (probably the only reason most people turn up) is Stella Artois, now for those of you in SA that still think Stella is a good beer, you’re wrong, its not! I will say that it is one of best tasting beers around, but waking up the morning after is enough to make you never want to see it again.

It is probably the only beer, or drink (other than Absinthe) that makes my head feel like it’s stuck to the rails on the underground while the trains drive past. So yes, many Stella’s later, as you never learn your lesson when it comes to free beer, I left only to be directed to more pubs: the Bierodrome, whose name is far cooler than the actual pub and the of course the famous Spanish bar!

So after too many pints, I made my way home, managed to get the front door open without too much difficulty, and let the wall guide my shoulder up the stairs. Waking up 3 or 4 hours later knowing that you have to go to work and that you have another potentially heavy night ahead is ‘not a nice feeling’. Nonetheless, I crawled out of my really comfy bed (when you position yourself right so that the rusty springs don’t poke you in the side) showered (helps a lot) and got to work on time.

Friday night- a fellow colleague’s going away drinks.

A place called the Pitcher and piano is where the night starts, but unfortunately didn’t end. Lots more pints with the good looking ladies from work (once again, no names), I left after having said so for the third time only to be dragged back to the bar for more punishment. Eventually I was out of the front door, and so close to being home that I could smell that burnt toast and cup of tea. This wasn’t meant to be, I tried phoning the other work colleague to say that I wouldn’t be able to make his going away drinks evening because I ‘was too hammered’ I remember saying. It didn’t take much persuasion to get me to change my mind, and a tube ride and a few minutes later I was at the T-bar, in Liverpool street. Now here comes the biggest disappointment of the night… it’s a cocktail bar! What does that mean? NO BEER! I don’t drink cocktails, what to do, what to do? Drink cocktails.

So many vodka filled cocktails later, and a nice pair of unwanted beer goggles I found the exit and made my ‘merry’ way home. The difference between Friday and Saturday morning?

No Stella=no headache.