Al Fresco…is that where Osama eats?
Ah, the annual Staff Pic-Nic. Sat in St James's Park, keeping a wary eye out for suicide bombers who may have switched tactics and decided that maximum outrage can be generated by targeting groups of people sat on tartan rugs and nibbling quiche.
As always, there were those that had contributed cash, those that had brought food made at home (possibly in the hope that somebody they dislike would eat it, so best avoided) and those, like me, that had brought along the booze that they wanted to drink, knowing full well that the sort of people entrusted with the kitty cannot be trusted to buy any decent beer lager or wine at the supermarket and would instead come back with something that has blue and white value stripes on it.
Fended off insects keen on sucking the sugar out of my Pimms and kept an eye out for speculative beggers, all the while aware that public drinking is a slippery slope. One minute you are sitting on the grass chatting of this and that and sipping at your beverage, the next you are sitting on a bench nursing a can of Super and wondering if the puddle of pish you are sitting in is your own.
As the day wore on and more drink was consumed. I have a vague recollection of asking somebody about their toe-ring, but worryingly cannot recall who it was.
Ended day by staggering on to train and consuming an entire tube of Pringles. This is not to be recommended, as I think it has put me off crisps for the foreseeable future. The roof of my mouth was burned to buggery by the chemicals they use for the flavouring and for the next two days all I could taste was some scientist's estimation of the flavour of salt and vinegar.
I mean it's not even salt and vinegar, is it? On the packet it's salt 'n' vinegar. Are the manufacturers of Pringles lazy or illiterate?
As always, there were those that had contributed cash, those that had brought food made at home (possibly in the hope that somebody they dislike would eat it, so best avoided) and those, like me, that had brought along the booze that they wanted to drink, knowing full well that the sort of people entrusted with the kitty cannot be trusted to buy any decent beer lager or wine at the supermarket and would instead come back with something that has blue and white value stripes on it.
Fended off insects keen on sucking the sugar out of my Pimms and kept an eye out for speculative beggers, all the while aware that public drinking is a slippery slope. One minute you are sitting on the grass chatting of this and that and sipping at your beverage, the next you are sitting on a bench nursing a can of Super and wondering if the puddle of pish you are sitting in is your own.
As the day wore on and more drink was consumed. I have a vague recollection of asking somebody about their toe-ring, but worryingly cannot recall who it was.
Ended day by staggering on to train and consuming an entire tube of Pringles. This is not to be recommended, as I think it has put me off crisps for the foreseeable future. The roof of my mouth was burned to buggery by the chemicals they use for the flavouring and for the next two days all I could taste was some scientist's estimation of the flavour of salt and vinegar.
I mean it's not even salt and vinegar, is it? On the packet it's salt 'n' vinegar. Are the manufacturers of Pringles lazy or illiterate?
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home