Matters started off somewhat slowly, not helped by the bomb-hoax in the centre of Bristol on Friday night; apparently a bank robber thought it would be ideal cover for a job to plant a fake bomb. Now in your correspondent's experience there tends to be quite a heavy police reaction to bomb scares so as a plan this one seems to be a little lacking in genius. It has to be said that a criminal with half a brain could be quite dangerous.
With matters starting slowly Saturday night was planned as a quiet one. It started as a quiet one as the lovely Dennis and he headed down to The Tobacco Factory for a quiet beer or two. Well strange to report it was just a quiet beer or two. It was the bottles of wine and champagne when they got home that killed him off getting to bed at 0600 is never great for a hangover...or rather it is.
Sunday by definition therefore had to be a day of rest, hmmm that sounds like a good idea can't believe no-one has had it before, but after an afternoon in the bed and several doses of pain-killers he was well enough to head over to Tails
and Jo's place in Sherston for a night of amateur unlicensed boxing.Now that might sound like Tails and he were planning on scrapping but in fact the event was somewhat more organised in a bard in the wilds of the west just outside Cirencester. He reports that the quality of the boxing was markedly poorer than his fine performance in the ring with Buck in Koh Phi Phi (passim) and, so it would seem, to prove the point he and Tails ended up having a scrap, the crowd loved it. His jaw less so.
After a hard scrap the testosterone was flowing somewhat and the two of them decided to pick on some poor innocent lad falsely accused of being "a bit nasty" to Sophie. How he talked himself out of his problems is not entirely clear.
Now after all this excitement the boys were a bit hungry and as luck would have it there was a BBQ at this event. Tails decided that buying a burger was totally unecessary when one could just dip your hand into the big pot of cheese and scoop it down one's Gregory.
The staff had other ideas and so a quick early retreat was quickly beaten in high disgrace.
It's not entirely clear how they managed to last as long as they did.
At some stage during this Rockyesque evening his very good chum Gay Boy (aka Ben) called him with a spare ticket for the 20:20 the next day. Now having been practising his Darrel Hair and Inzaman chants all week he obviously snapped it up. It would be wrong of us to record the chaotic disorganisation that descended on their plans but the telephone call our hero received whilst in the taxi to let him know that his ticket had been given to a pregnant woman was a bit of a shocker.
It is fair to record that England were rubbish and got stuffed.
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