Mistakes & Regrets

What a weekend. Where to begin? Should I even attempt it?

It all began on Friday night after watching State & Main [sic]. I had foolishly placed a glass of wine on a side table within arm gesturing reach. Soon after an explanation of something I can no longer recall, I struck my wine glass, cascading its contents over the couch, the carpet and myself. Sods law dictates that 87.23% of wine spilt is red. The remaining 12.77% is used to try and clean it up.
After spending the next hour clearing it up, I was ready for bed. I had also sobered up which was probably a good thing. Booze 1, Me 0.

I had a very rewarding lie in on Saturday morning and despite spending the remainder of the morning picking up loose bits of wine glass from the carpet, it passed without incident. Then came lunch.
I decided to fry some sausages using this new oil that Lou had bought. It's a spray of olive oil at 1 calorie per spray. After spraying and heating the pan I threw the sausages in and they sizzled away. The sausages started to brown but the pan dried up much too quickly so I added olive oil from an old bottle. Acrid smoke rose from the pan and I was temporarily blinded. I moved the pan from the hob and rushed to open the window. The fire alarm went off. I turned swearing into an art form. A string of profanity sprayed from my mouth and was certainly not a 1 calorie serving. I raced downstairs and reset the alarm. Then ran back up the stairs to find that the pan had been happily charring away in my absence and was still smoking away. The alarm went off again. Not happy. I reset the alarm a second time and opened all the windows in the kitchen and adjoining corridor. My sausages were burnt black on one side and I was damned if I wasn't going to eat them. I sat down and shoved them into my mouth feeling thoroughly dejected.

Saturday afternoon I went over to my friends house to play some Fantasy Role-play which I haven't really done since I was 15. It was a good laugh and gave me the opportunity to drink 3 litres of cider. Just like I did when I was 15. Afterwards, we all headed out to the Spring & Airbrake for some pints. Tony & I found it a little dull so we headed to the Empire and a good cover band, Tusk, was playing. After soaking up some rock classics, I hooked up with the rest of the gang in the Spring & Airbrake again and they finished up their pints and we headed back to Keith and Heathers house for some nightcaps. Now, whilst waiting for said group to finish their pints and minding my own business, Bert grabbed my right nipple and clamped on it like a crocodile clip. Despite my protest his grip remained tight. I resorted to kicking him in the shin in order to escape the clutch. He finally relented. I conspired revenge.

After consuming some wine at Keith’s house I spied an egg box on the kitchen counter. I discussed a rough plan with Keith. After luring Bert over to look at some alcohol I landed a satisfying egg splat on the top of his head. He was not amused but neither was my bruised pectoral region. Bert 1, Phil 1. A satisfying draw.

I then engaged Rok in an argument of some sort involving his name and it got rather heated [his birth name being Richard, which he hates but I keep calling him it because I can't get used to calling him Rok] and of which I now regret as it got out of control. Alcohol 2, Phil 0.

My conclusion therefore is that if you consume 3 litres of cider, don't go out. Never fry sausages when you can grill them, and never place a glass of wine to the side of you when you're prone to fervent hand gestures. Most of all, if you find yourself in a drunken argument, leave the room immediately, pour yourself a glass of water and wait 5 minutes before re-entering the room.