The summer boozing season is open for business

and the decent weather (neither raining nor windy) meant we could sit outside for a few beers after work on Friday and soak up the cloud. Three pints and no food later, I weaved home, had some pasta and sat stupefied in front of the box until I sobered up a little, then went to find Josh in Teviot. I had started, so I'd damn well finish. And finish I did, playing drinking games until 2 am with three no doubt uneasy students to whom I attached myself for the rest of the night.

Hungover to fuck (that's a technical term), I had to get to Glasgow the next day. We had a practise for Davis' wedding at 3 pm. Suffice it to say that my playing was...adequate that afternoon, without ever exceeding mediocre. We have a 6-hour marathon session tonight, so hopefully I'll be a little more confidence-inspiring.

Post-practise, we decamped to Pancho Villas for some food and subjected the marvellously reasonable waiting staff to an hour of raucous chat. (I've worked as a waiter in a couple of places and frankly, I'd have thrown me out.) Sated and, in my case, amusingly stained with meat fajita juice, we met up with Waxy and the Captain in a boisterous local dive. A pub-rock band was enthusiastically plugging its way through some guitar staples. Waxy fancied the bassist because of his cheeky smile and bass technique; I instead admired his tortoiseshell Fender P-bass, and his bass technique.

After that, we all just got hammered. I crawled off to bed at 2 or 3 am and slept the sleep of the very drunk.

Sunday, unsurprisingly, was a bit of a write-off.