After the exaggerated excesses of the last years post NYE first gig of the fiasco, we dragged our rave -ished carcasses along to the club, really rather prefering to stay at home and watch TOTP's and Eastenders instead of having fun with our friends.
For the first time in nearly 2 years I just couldn't be arsed and felt like indulging in nothing more than a cup of herb tea and an organic flapjack or two. No such luck. Duty beckons and all that tosh. Expecting a quiet night, we sat in the corner, supping beer hopefully, expounding expansively on the meaning of life, whilst Lard and Spiritch (Little and Large) cracked the whip and had themselves a damn good spank on the decks.
Numbers wise it was the quietest night ever, but this was good for all our creaky old limbs as we could stagger around in crap impressions of people out having a laff without being witnessed by the arrogant eye of youth. Glad to be crap and wrinkled in all the right places. The deep and dirty spanking the boys gave us, acting as a life restoring elixir of, if not youth, of younger, fitter days. We put thoughts of pain racked limbs behind us, as we supped yet more beer and looked forward to unconsciousness.
Happy New Year? Let's see..