Unexpected alcohol

So last night after work was an unexpected meet up with colonel_maxim and ruletwo on the South Bank. (National Theatre Land twice in a week; what is going on?). I met ellefurtle at Embankment, though it would have been better, with hindsight if we’d just met outside the NT. (She could have walked there directly from her office across Blackfriars’ Bridge instead of along the Victoria Embankment, across Hungerford Bridge and back down the Albert Embankment). Still, the walk perked her up by all accounts.

The four of us failed completely to find a bar or a pub in the vicinity and ended up trooping down the The Horse, somewhere down the back of Waterloo Station. It is an odd pub; it manages to project an image of seedy benevolence and has a very large and well-stocked spirits bar. Toward the back of the main bar there are, on the wall, mock Victorian prints, including one of Queen Victoria herself sporting “Albert Forever” tattoos across a most unqueenly chest. Other prints have eyes that follow you around the room (this is not because of the effects of alcohol).

Four drinks and much chat later, we decamped and finally washed up back at The Carpathia sometime around 11.25, starving and partially soused. A very late dinner, hastily prepared and a couple of Laurel and Hardy shorts to finish off the evening (from their naïve period, I think. The two we watched were strange and just seemed to stop before the plot such as it was in each case, reached any sort of real resolution. Simpler days).

The upshot is that for the fourth morning this week, I am knackered. Tonight it is the quiz and tomorrow we have guests. A grand-slam of knackeredness awaits, then. On Sunday I may decide not to get out of bed all day.

Unexpected alcohol

So last night after work was an unexpected meet up with colonel_maxim and ruletwo on the South Bank. (National Theatre Land twice in a week; what is going on?). I met ellefurtle at Embankment, though it would have been better, with hindsight if we’d just met outside the NT. (She could have walked there directly from her office across Blackfriars’ Bridge instead of along the Victoria Embankment, across Hungerford Bridge and back down the Albert Embankment). Still, the walk perked her up by all accounts.

The four of us failed completely to find a bar or a pub in the vicinity and ended up trooping down the The Horse, somewhere down the back of Waterloo Station. It is an odd pub; it manages to project an image of seedy benevolence and has a very large and well-stocked spirits bar. Toward the back of the main bar there are, on the wall, mock Victorian prints, including one of Queen Victoria herself sporting “Albert Forever” tattoos across a most unqueenly chest. Other prints have eyes that follow you around the room (this is not because of the effects of alcohol).

Four drinks and much chat later, we decamped and finally washed up back at The Carpathia sometime around 11.25, starving and partially soused. A very late dinner, hastily prepared and a couple of Laurel and Hardy shorts to finish off the evening (from their naïve period, I think. The two we watched were strange and just seemed to stop before the plot such as it was in each case, reached any sort of real resolution. Simpler days).

The upshot is that for the fourth morning this week, I am knackered. Tonight it is the quiz and tomorrow we have guests. A grand-slam of knackeredness awaits, then. On Sunday I may decide not to get out of bed all day.