The weekend got off to a wobbly start after an arrangement with Swineshead was mangled by the jaws of misfortune. Note to self, if you are going to arrange to meet people make sure you get the right venue, especially if there’s more than one venue with the same name.

I, of course, was in the wrong venue and to make matters worse I’d battled to get there on time from the office, which is located on the dark side of the fucking moon. Admittedly it was closer to home but the place I should’ve been at would have been a doddle from work and not subject to the grinding horror of a Friday rush hour train for 30 fear-packed minutes. I couldn’t face the thought of throwing myself back into the boiling broth of livid office workers, besides, I’d managed to tangle up IC in my poorly planned affairs and whilst she was un-fussed about the prospect of my re-departing I was suitably pissed off enough to take my sorry arse out of the social equation and slink off home with her.

All wasn’t lost though. IC had made plans to see some friends later on in the evening so we decided to have a spot of wine on the way home before meeting them at the 8-ish. The friends, if I may interject, are the same couple we stayed with in Cadaqués earlier this year and we re-engaged as if time had remained static.

Due to the couple in question having a 10-month-old nipper we weren’t allowed inside the pub and were forced to remain outside where we happily imbibed in the clement-ish weather. After we got home at a reasonable hour we saw off Friday with a dark and intensely gripping film from Germany called Hotel, consider it a Piqued recommend.

Saturday got off to a slow start, we had planned to meet our visiting pals at a gallery space near Bethnal Green at lunchtime and to my genuine surprise the pieces on display actually had some merit, and the owner of said space was a nice chap and quite unlike the sorts of trustfund ponces that seem drawn toward this sort of thing. We stayed a while before heading off to Victoria Park for a delicious walk in the autumn sunshine and winding up at The Royal Inn for some light refreshment. By now we were 7, with 3 children under the age of 1.

It was a lovely afternoon that bled into the evening, I found myself working with everyone to keep the kids happy, which was like driving 3 cars at once. It was rewarding, exasperating and knackering all at once, even a little profound at times. At 7-ish IC, Patty and I went home via Lidl to stock up on bits and pieces for the evening, my bro joined us at 9-ish and we saw Saturday night off with all the required bells and whistles.

Sunday’s hangover wasn’t aided by my having to visit the West End to meet Bert, Harry, Roger and John for a pint and a curry. It was another beautiful autumnal day that I gawped at from the confines of a very noisy and bouncy bus. As predicted, on arrival, a few sips into the first pint saw me as right as rain and I gingerly entered into the spirit of things.

I wasn’t going to take the curry on but was inspired to do so by Bert who I’d not seen in a while. I picked at the various ordered dishes, delicious, but didn’t outstay my welcome. At 4 I bid everyone a fond farewell and headed back on the bus to the soundtrack of Stiff Little Fingers that made everything all right in the world. Marvelous.

Neil and Sue were at the flat with IC when I barged in a 5. It was the beginning of the end of the weekend’s unplanned festivities and I was determined to make the most of it. I did such a good job I can barely recall the last bit.

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