Wankered At Waterloo

Spent the day in recovery yesterday after an all-nighter on Saturday at Waterloo Station. Kicking off everywhere it was. A load of us got totally nutted on some Red Bull. Genius too, coz they’ve started making it in really small bottles clearly designed for the pigeon. Manageable. Easily accessible. Perfect. Mental stuff too.

Took this of Mart at some point. No idea which one, but I think it was round about the moment he said he had no idea where he was. I told him we’d flown to Manchester. Think he believed me too. In fact, I’m not sure he realised we weren’t in Manchester till this morning.

Here he is:

Could hardly fucking stand up never mind string a sentence.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere he goes: “Bri. Shortbread.”

I warned him against it, but he wouldn’t listen and downed it in one.

Sure enough, two minutes later and there he was chucking up everywhere:

Then there was Ed behind who just stood there staring at a piece of chewing gum for hours. He said it looked like Wales. Jesus.

I vaguely remember flying over the bridge yesterday afternoon, then nothing. Firmly rooted to the ledge for the rest of the day.

So, all things considered, I’m not sure I’m entirely ready for Monday yet.

Oh well.

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