Tuesday, 15 April 2008

Oh Bugger.

So, the resolution to post more - once every two days, at least - hasn't exactly gone well. But, for once, I do have an excuse: I went to Aberystwyth for the weekend for my birthday celebrations and I'm still recovering.

Got there on Friday night not long after midnight thanks to Chris and his gorgeous Alfa, and chilled out, chatted and went to bed - without going to the pub as we'd planned. We were all a bit tired.

On Saturday, Chris, Frances, Sue and I went to the Snooker Hall for lunch, where I had a gorgeous pizza (chicken, ham and pepperoni - the usual), and Dave turned up. Our first flat get-together since we all left! Plenty of laughs, not least when Dave called me a cradle snatcher. Oops.

We tooled around town after that, going in and out of various shops - including a session in Nice and Naughty laughing at the title of porno films - and I bought a cool book by a local author called Niall Griffiths. I saw him at a reading last year at Uni and I'm pleased that he's bought a book out called Real Aberystwyth - like a Lonely Planet guide to the town.

Rachel arrived on the bus at 2pm, so we went and met her and wandered back to Sue's. Me and Chris left the womenfolk alone to chat and catch up and get changed and we went for a couple of frames of snooker; I have to mention that I won, and then came from behind (wahey!) for another victory in a best-of-5 game of pool. Miracles can happen, apparently.

We went to Wetherspoons at around 5 and met up with Dave, a couple of his friends, and Rich and Dan for some food and to start the drinking - much merriment ensued with the help of Kopparberg Pear Cider. Fit. Several of us then drove out to Goginan as there was a band playing with two of our old lecturers in it: cue plenty of dodgy looks from the locals as we hadn't been in before, although a few pints of cider soon put me at ease. A drunken escapade into a nearby field of sheep to fly Rich's model aeroplane, though, was halted by a shouty famer and the angry revving of his Land Rover.

On the return to Aber, we hit the pubs in force: Cambrian for plenty of cocktails, including a great one with a sparkler in, and a random shot. Don't know what that was. Went to The Mill where Jade bought me a couple of colourful, potent looking shots. Don't know what they were either. A Long Island Iced Tea in The Castle was followed by a pretty disappointing finish in The Bay, but up until then we'd had a brilliant night. Thank you for coming, everyone!

Went back to Sue's and crawled into my sleeping bag. I think.

The hangover was sickeningly, horrifically epic. I could barely move without feeling ill, and the best option seemed to be to lie on the floor, perfectly still, grunting at people as they passed. Except I had to get home on the 11:30 train - work to do when I returned. I crawled out of bed and hauled myself to the shower, which made me feel a little better, but the dry-heaving and throwing up of stomach acid wasn't encouraging.

Eventually - it really did take a while, as everything was taking four times as long - I packed my stuff away, said some hazy goodbyes and wandered to the station, via Spar: Jaffa Cakes and a huge bottle of water were to be my companions on the journey back. Except, despite National Rail telling me the train left at 11:30, it actually went an hour later. Cue a walk back to Sue's, where I saw Jade and her fiancé looking bright, airy and very awake. Jade's impression of me made my walking look like that of a severly wounded zombie - and she wasn't far off.

When I got back to the house, Chris asked me if I remembered what I was doing in the middle of the night - and I had no idea. Rachel, though, had seen me sleepwalking: apparently I crept out of my sleeping bag, walked over to her - almost stamping on her head - and spent some time fiddling with the curtains, before returning. Oops.

Got on the train after another round of goodbyes, and ended up talking to a guy on the way back who was also visiting Aber, to see his sister. He'd been out for a heavy one, too, but wasn't in the state I was. He's in the RAF, stationed at Swindow, but is originally from Birmingham, and we chatted about plenty - football, games, music, politics. He certainly made the journey much more bearable.

At Birmingham New Street I found out that I couldn't actually get a direct train to Reading - my best bet was to go to Oxford, which is a station I'd never visited before. After a baguette - I didn't trust myself with food other than Jaffa Cakes earlier in the day - I felt considerably more human. It's odd: for a city that prides itself on historial buildings and, as the cliché goes, dreaming spires, Oxford Station seems to be in the middle of an 80's housing estate. A bus took me to Didcot, and the twenty minutes passed very quickly because of the lovely phone conversation with the wonderful Beth. Train to Reading, then, and home.

Very hungover. Mostly sat down all night and vegetated.

Still, a brilliant weekend!

3 comments:

said...

tut tut .... the drunken yobbish youth of today!

Mike said...

Yeah, because you're soooo much better! :p

beth* said...

yea im not a drunken yobbish youth:P im a lady :) n you know that :D