Out tonight to the Shoulder of Mutton with Peter, Gus and Chippy. I had pints of lager, bitter and Pernod chasers. Ugh. The three of us laughed our heads off and played ridiculous games, specifically intended to hasten intoxication. Once again my short, tight jeans proved to be the focal point of public amusement. By the end of the evening Chippy said he liked them though.
Gus and Chippy.
From the Shoulder we took Oakwood by storm and drank more, wenched more, and debauched more. I met a girl called Angie and arranged to meet her at Da Mario's (on the Headrow, Leeds) tomorrow. She seemed attractive - you know, petite and all that - but very young. God knows what patter I was giving her but I must have been convincing. I have a feeling that I correctly guessed the girl's 'star sign', but just which one it was escapes me for the moment. (Is she perhaps a Gemini?)
However, if this evening is anything to go by the forthcoming holiday is going to be nothing short of a national holocaust for the Spanish people. I've no idea who the justice minister is in Madrid but I fear he'll know of me before July is over and done with.