So, I ended up at a Happy Hour gig yesterday with a mate who writes reviews for an online site, her friend who is a regular blogger (but about cool non Colin Firth Penis stuff), and a few other people, all involved in creative endeavours such as writing, journalisting and theatre-ing.
I don't remember much of the two hours I spent there except:
a) I was told I was "very cheerful. Not like you"
b) I patted a bloke on his arm a few times (no, I'd not met the bloke before)
c) I asked about wedding etiquette, we discussed shaving bits and pieces (consensus=boys shouldn't do it),
d) I recall someone taking their top off to show a (shaved) nipple.
e) I shamelessly pimped out Chiwetel Ejiofor, even though his new film is about grown men beating each other up.
All this was the result of my having spent the previous 3 hours, watching Liverpool lose in the most annoying style (oh WHY did they play like they had huge concrete blocks on their feet throughout the first half? WHY?) and now having to face the prospect of a Chelsea-Man Utd Champions League final.
Gah.
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