MInd the Gaps

Note to self. Remember to eat before going out drinking.

After about 10pm I only remember bits of last night. Small patches do keep coming back to me. We went to the Maple Leaf in Covent Garden. I still remember that. Jamie was waiting for me at the station when I arrived. I was 5 minutes late, but that's too bad considering how late I left. I figured we'd start off at the Maple Leaf then head over to that Irish pub near Piccadilly Circus (O'Something or another'; yeah, I guess that's a pretty safe bet). As it turned out we stayed there for the whole evening (actually I think that Luke and his friends, possibly Jamie too, ended up at The Walkabout on Embankment). That's the problem with the Maple Leaf; it's such a great place to be and practically impossible to leave if get lucky and find a table. Admittedly I'm not too fond of the log cabin style refurb. And they got rid of the "Molson" chair. A portrait of John Molson (the man behind my hangover) hung over an inactive fireplace. In front of that was a table and a high backed, leather arm chair, the "Molson Chair". It was sort of chair that you'd expect to see being used by a man sporting a large handlebar moustache, smoking a pipe as he enjoys a good single malt whisky at his preferred gentleman's club. In the old days, when the Maple Leaf was just a little less busy we always made a beeline for the Molson chair. It's still there, but it’s no longer at the back of the bar by the fireplace underneath the portrait of John Molson. They've moved the portrait too. Nobody bothers to go for the chair anymore. Still, at least Bernie the stuffed (and slightly anorexic) bear is still about. Hmm, all of that sounded like it was building up to be metaphor for something. Well, except for the bit about Bernie (and it’s not like we’ve ever called him that; I’ve only just arbitrarily decided on an alliterative name for him).

Anyway, surprise of the night came when Luke turned up, complete with a girl from his office. She looked a little unassuming at first, wrapped up in a ¾ length, blue/green coat, but when she took it off she revealed a slender East Asian form, cloaked, very lightly, by a tight blue bustier-esqe top that cupped her small, but shapely breasts. If only I could remember the conversation as well as the breasts. I did talk to her for a wile. I’m told I was quite funny, if a little over the top with my good natured banter about Luke’s many deficiencies. Still, even if I was funny and charming it was all for naught; I found out later that the girl, Joyce, yes that was her name, was married, even though she wore no ring. I wasn’t interested of course. At the risk of being crass Luke had dibs anyway. No, I had no real interest in Joyce besides using her as a means by which I could keep myself amused, to prove that I could still hold the attention of a pretty girl if I so wished. It helped that I was in something of an exuberant mood at the evenings beginning. Even before the alcohol that followed. In another state of mind I would have undoubtedly found it less easy.

Now that I think about it, perhaps, conversely, my lack of any real interest in the subject (so clinical) rendered the exercise entirely pointless anyway. Still, it made me feel better for a short while.

Shots were ordered and I made Jamie seem foolish in front of the barmaid he fancied (at least that’s what the tell me). Jamie bears me no ill will; apparently he has no memory if it either.

Some other people turned up; I assumed they more of Luke’s work collegues, apparently only one of the three was.

I’ll reiterate my earlier point. It is essential that I eat BEFORE I go out.

I left at some point, of that I’m sure. It was an indeterminate amount of time after Ben and Craig left, but maybe not before Jamie. Certainly it was before Luke and his rapidly expanding entourage left (they went on to join Rosh at his gathering for the 19 year old girl, whoever she was, at the Walkabout). I vaguely remember finding myself walking across Trafalgar square, not my usual route to Piccadilly Circus (where I’d usually get the Bakerloo line, but not that day); the result, I think of an abortive attempt to go to the Strand branch of McDonalds for a burger. Quite what was wrong with the Leicester Square branch that I would pass by had I taken my regular path, I don’t know. Quite why I didn’t go for the burger after all I don’t know either. Maybe it had something to do with how queasy I felt going back on the Piccadilly Line to Rayners Lane (obviously I couldn’t muster the strength to change trains so as I could go directly to my closest station). Luckily the toilets weren’t open. The local youth must have decided to ply their vandalistic trade elsewhere that weekend. I continued to be unwell when I got home. For the first night in weeks, I had no trouble sleeping.

I notice that I’m naming names today. If anybody who reds this has any objections I’ll remove them. I’m Lee by the way.