Bleugh! After our heavy, heavy night in Chorlton, I had a spectacular hangover. Kate did too. Unfortunately, Kate had to go to work at 8am, and then go dancing to celebrate her own birthday that evening. I was able, thankfully, to stay in bed.
Lucian called, explaining that he was in town, and asking if I fancied joining him for a pint. Yes, I thought, why not? Because you feel rough as arses, and very dehydrated? Not good enough! We met in the Northern, and enjoyed a few pints in the company of Jamie. Jamie, a teacher, had raised two butterflies in his class at school. The kids had named one of them Michael Jackson. Pun king Lucian was soon riffing away - "It don't matter if you're Cabbage White." Jamie pointed out that these puns were amongst the least transferrable of all gags because they were so specifically tied to the concept of a butterfly named Michael Jackson. Four pints and many laughs later, we said farewell and I shot back to Stretford.
I don't know how Kate managed to push through her tiredness, but after some booze in the house, we were out again. In the Sand Bar, we ended up divided into two groups: Chaw's friends and Kate's friends. Danesh Ali, Miriam, the Padmores and several others showed up at once, which furthered the wedge between the two halves of the party. So it goes, I guess. When it came to moving to a dancing place, Chaw and her friends elected to drink at the Deaf Institute, while we trooped to the Tiger Lounge. Robbie was there, and Champ too. We danced and drank and danced some more. It was - I think - a brilliant occasion. I think, because my drunken memories are vague... Karaoke at 3am... Chips... Another hangover approaching...?
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