Hat Night: it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Actually, it was. The Mafia and assorted cohorts have done this a couple of times before. The concept is simple: get healthily uninhibited through the drinking game du jour and then go out wearing an assortment of frankly ludicrous hats. This all started after the first epic cocktail party at cosa nostra, whereafter the flat was littered with, amongst other things:

1. a fake beard
   
2. 'interesting' hats
   
3. vomit
   

Item 1 is still stuck to a tile in the kitchen; item 3 was scrubbed off the floor beside my bed with extreme vigour and items 2 gave rise to the phenomenon that is Hat Night. Friday was also nominally a birthday night out for the Roquefort Files, so I helpfully got completely and utterly wankered. At some point in the evening, I clearly felt a need to share this with Ian. Loudly.

Anyway, after dancing1 the night away at Medina (of course) we called it a night. On the way home, Jeff employed some kind of WWF smack-down type manoeuvre on me and subsequently locked Estelle out of her flat.

All in a day's work.

Update: Now up, Josh's entirely more coherent and visually pleasing chronicle of Hat Night '03.

1. I still get the odd involuntary shudder.