So that was the weekend. I managed to have a lot of fun actually. Friday night in the Bristol Flyer. I went on my bike, and could only have one drink anyway, so I didn’t feel like a complete arse only having the one, £2.85. Everyone else was a bit pissed, so I don’t think they even noticed. A good time was had by all.
On the Saturday, I went out with a big old bunch of spaniards. Out dancing till the early hours, outlay £3.00. Key points of the night:
- We went to someone’s house for “10 minutes” and stayed about 3 hours. They kept offering me drinks, so I felt pretty bad arriving empty handed. Bad form.
- A roomful of Spanish girls shouting out all the different words for penises they knew in English at me, looking for confirmation from the official arbiter of English for the night. Surreal.
- Talking to a drunk cliftonite student who asked me accusingly “how old are you?”
Sunday, it was back to the Bristol Flyer for drinks with a friend. £4.10. It’s a nice pub, candles, comfy, really good tunes playing so quietly you can barely hear them. Just coincidence I was there twice though.
Balance = £69.04 (-12.6%)
To survive I’ve been living off tins of soup, the nimble bread from Somerfield that I had frozen, lots of oats (oats are a condiment by the way, I never knew), haggis (I bought a job lot after Burns’ night) and what I’ve decided to call poverty pizza. It’s a pizza base with tomato paste, a little oil, garlic, chopped tomatoes and lots of onion. No cheese, or meat or anything. I know what I’m doing though, and it tastes damn good.
I’ve not been reading or watching the news for more than two weeks now by the way. We could be war with Russia over Kosovo for all I knew.
Anyway, on to the mystery in the post:
I really want to get your comments on this one. There’s a lot of things to remark upon. If you guys miss any, I’ll point them out myself.