Easter PIE.

After last Saturday's eye-wateringly expensive property destruction debacle, I made a conscious effort to have an extremely boring weekend. I made special efforts to seek out tedium and monotony wherever I could find it. I particularly avoided excitement A) in the vicinity of breakable, expensive items and B) at altitude.

I tried on Friday to organise a Mafia trip to see Shaun of the Dead at the cinema. Physical risk assessment: low. Lots of sitting down (nice and close to the ground) in a sturdy chair, with sudden movements kept to a minimum. More importantly, no windows in a cinema. Financial risks: I'm still repaying the loan for the last gallon of Odeon coke I bought. No popcorn for me, then.

Anyway, the Mafia failed to materialise, so I tagged along with some workmates instead. The film was great, and thankfully, no windows were broken.

On Saturday I mainly faffed. Indulged in a bit of bass faffing; had a coffee with Ali; cooked tea for Jeff and I; watched Once Upon A Time In Mexico. A truly middling day in both concept and execution. Still no more windows broken.

Devon organised (my God, how many times have I typed that? It's about time the three amigos got ourselves a flat worthy of entertaining so we can host our part of the Mafia social calendar) a vaguely Easter-flavoured brunch on Sunday. We sauntered down for 2 pm, stuffed ourselves lethargic with a goodly selection of pie (and quiche - the pie that dare not speak its name) and had a pint in a very local pub. Later on, The O.C. provided the impetus to cobble together some semi-White Russians from vanilla vodka and some odd chocolatey liqueur that made the milk curdle. Ah well; you win some, you lose some, and you drink the results regardless. It actually tasted rather nice, and the emulsion-like appearance was, at least briefly, intriguing to look at.

The Chunky Russians were sufficiently potent (I kept mine away from naked flames, just in case) to propel Annabel and I out of the flat around 9 pm to have a few drinks. Which we did; a couple of pints later, we called it a night and went our separate ways. I walked home on the outside edge of the pavement, as far away from the windows as I could manage without presenting an irresistable target to night bus drivers.