2009, Week 11

Short entry this week. It's a predictable and well versed observation, but hangovers get a lot worse, a lot quicker once you hit a certain age. Two days after going out, I still feel like crap.

A few days after my Birthday, I learnt that your mental powers start declining at 27. I have now reached my mental peak and it's all down hill from here. I regularly walk around looking for keys that are in my pocket. My brain is at its optimum. I watched an hour of TV yesterday and realised in last ten minutes that I've seen it before, very recently. If I can't get into MENSA now, I never will. I'm afraid. I don't want to be anymore of an idiot then I am already.

To help my body on its way to terminal idiocy we 'got our binge on' Saturday night under the guise of post birthday drinks. So that's Orange Tree, Moon & Bell and then everyone's favourite sticky floored club, Echos with Jen, Scott, John and Becky.

As usual John got me into trouble by telling Jen things that were only meant to be between him and me. That is, something I wrote on the blog last week. Apparently the term 'clam-fest' could be construed by some as offensive, so I shall not be using it again. I don't think it's wise to say something that could potentially cause offense, I'd much rather be sure of it.

As I was waving goodbye to the 26 year old me, I decided to also say goodbye to some treasured frequencies by standing next to the world's worst speaker in Echos. For the first and very probably the last time in my life (I'm not a slut, it just doesn't ever happen) I 'shooed off' a woman who asked John and I to dance by derogatorily waving my hand at her. My reasons were honourable, I don't think Jen should come back and see me dancing with some random girl. And she was rotund. She gave me a dirty look, some sort of 'don't go there' palm and walked off, which I think was fair enough. John's classic response was 'well, that didn't go well for any of us'.

And that's it for this week. I could rant about Tescos and my scratched up copy of Fallout3, but I really don't have the energy. If you ever have a scratched game, go to Blockbusters and they'll repair it for a few quid. Just don't shout at the staff when they ask you if you moved your xbox when it was on. You may know that you're joking, but the person behind the counter hitting the panic button doesn't. They give you funny looks and it makes you feel a little bit smaller inside. I blame my newly initiated mental decline.