Snarg.

Drunken portraits!

I’m misplaced. That woman has no trousers on. That guy spent too long doing his hair. The music I like is too loud. I spat in someone’s ear trying to tell them I couldn’t hear them. £7 for whiskey?! I don’t pee in gutters. Don’t put that picture on Facebook. Charlotte’s probably in bed by now. I can’t be bothered to walk home, but I’m not paying for a taxi.

Just a few of the criticisms.

I’m not sure what this really says about me, but it should keep me in vodka for at least a week.

It’s been a thoroughly difficult week. My new week’s resolution is to get more sleep, write some of my framework and read some C++ book.

I wish I could just wander about drinking Strongbow from a bottle on Fridays. Or any day, for that matter.

Paul (my new friend) did make a very interesting point, though. No-one ever says hello anymore. Even when he said it to me, I was taken aback and wondered how much change he was after. But we had quite a nice chat about music, and he correctly guessed what I do for a living. It was weird.

Come to think of it, I don’t think I’d say hello to a stranger unless I was a bit drunk.

I’ve totally earned this break. Interviews, freelance meetings and working on James’ site has given me no free time this week.

This weekend has been fuelled, almost entirely, by alcohol in many, many forms. I don’t like going out when it’s raining, it makes my hair wet, which takes quite a long time to dry so I generally hide.

Largely due to boredom, apathy towards PS3 games and desire to use the £7.00 pot of Hotel Chocolat hot chocolate that’s been sat on the side, Charlotte invented something called a “Hot, Dirty Russian”. Upon telling me this, I thought she’d tied up Anna Kournikova for me in the bedroom, but no such luck. This drink is essentially hot chocolate with vodka, kahlua and cream. The Anna Kournikova metaphor isn’t totally lost, as it really burns on the way down (ok, I’ll stop).

I don’t like measuring alcohol, so just melt some of this awfully (justifiably) extravagant hot chocolate on a stove, pour it in a glass and chuck the alcohol in. Sip it (because it’s not just the temperature that burns you) and I promise it’ll soon be gone.

In unrelated, but very important news – avoid the O2 Store in West Quay, Southampton. They are a bunch of jerk-offs.

The vigilant of you will spot that I didn’t post a photo yesterday. I did, however, take one (but I could barely hold my camera at the time so you will excuse!).

Charlotte excitedly announced that she’d bought me some nice cider. “Nice cider” normally means a bottle of nice fruit cider or something equally tame. Not last night. Last night, Charlotte brought home canned evil. I’ve had Scrumpy Jack before, but I’d not even heard of Strongbow Super. It’s 7% and it took my head off. I’m normally pretty good at cider, but this put me on my arse, then in my bed. It was very fun, though. I recommend it for if you’re planning on sitting on a bandstand shouting at the pigeons on a Sunday afternoon!