nice chips, shame about the place

Mood:  caffeinated
Now Playing: telemarketers won't let go of my doorbell

Went out for a beer or two, ended up really really drunk, stuffing my face with big chips in the same old same old gay bar, drinking champagne cocktails, shrieking obscenities and (same old same old) annoying the general public. And apparently, according to my phone this morning, sending extremely annoying drunken texts to all and sundry. Fortunately, people are tolerant.
Summarised and distorted:

"I notice you texted me this at 4am. No, there is no south London all-night lesbian bar that I can direct you to at this hour."
"I'm not getting a #40 taxi just to come to the pub"
"It is too your fault you split up. Everybody everywhere knows that."
"I was pleased to meet you that one time... I'm glad you're enjoying your evening so much. Yes, it is rather late."
"Yes you could get her back, but you would have to speak to her about it, not me."

London is too too full of bright eyed bushy tailed students with gleaming skin and toothy smiles. Even when you go to a shitty bar to escape them, you just hit the waves of third years who think they're so way cooler than the ones forced to spend their weekends in the non-shitty bars. It's a long time since I've seen so many men with full heads of hair in the same place.

Must remember not to cry in public. Not even in a snivelley quiet, corner-slumped way. Certainly not when shrieking drunkenly about phallus -shaped chips, and not when flicking moules tom yum (jeeeeeee-sus) at other diners.