The Slow News Cycle

So, nothing much happens when your an unemployed bum living on your sisters couch in the mean streets of east London. Hard to find anything out of the slightly mindless blur that was the last week that is even nearly newsworthy. Last night I even tried to do the obligatory blind post, however I fell asleep using my computer as a pillow so whatever wisdom I managed to come up with was lost.

So anyways, after the dizzying heights that were Dublin I decided that now was the time to try out one of my new years resolutions- to have 10 weekends off the piss in 2007 - as many of you know, I am a reasonable drinker, I'm not one of these 12 hours pass and I need a drink kind of fellows, no, what damages B A Tron is the three days each week where I decide that soberism is for the geeks and I follow my natural tendencies.

Tuesday was fine, just a normal day in the unemployed's lifestyle, a job application session in the morning followed by a nap. Wednesday, much the same, except we got a bite on the job hunt, the delightful Suzzy (I regret to say representing the Hays recruitment junta) called and offered me an interview with Transport for London- a huge public service company over here. So anyways Thursday was filled by a) the interview (which went all right) and b) the return from 7 weeks of Eurotripping of Bonnie and Kendell (APF's cousin and friend).

So after the interview I was feeling fine, then the two young (were talking sub 20's) girls arrive to party at the Pickle for the weekend- life was good. After dinner I decided to head downstairs to the bottlO- just one or two beers- wouldn't really harm the week off the piss...

Down three flights of stairs I descended, like a the Cougar add, 1 5 pack of cans, 1 bottle of red, and 1 bottle of white for the girls, 1 5 pack of cans, 1 bottle of red, and 1 bottle of white for the girls, 1 5 pack of cans, 1 bottle of red. OH MY GOD THAT IS A BOTTLE OF BUNDERBERG RUM IN THE FRONT WINDOW OF THE OFFIE DOWNSTAIRS.

I did a double, then a triple take- yes, the random wine store in the middle of Old Street is now selling B.U.N.D.Y Rum until the middle of February (it must be an important time to be an Aussie). So not really being in full control I walked into the bottle shop and ordered a bottle of the mothers milk (I couldn't tell you if I delivered on the other three items on my shopping list) with an new found vigor I bounded up the stairs and cracked the bottle of holiest amongst holies. For all of those non religious folk I recommend getting something you really love, but take for granted, then go with out it for 5 weeks (Kloss you blew it by coming to Prague) then getting the opportunity for a no questions asked reunion. Thursday was something like that- I like Bunderburg Rum. - there I said it.

So anyways, despite what you might hear on other blog posts- I did not drink the entire bottle right there and then

1) APF helped me out by having at least (and you never know with that freddie) one cup of rum, and
2) sitting here right now I can still see the bottle, and there is still something left in the bottom of it.

so there you go, let the tabloids have their fun, but we all know the truth.

So Friday, the week off the piss was shot, as was the week of solid job hunting, I wouldn't here from the TFL for London job till Monday (you will be the first too know) so I decided that their was nothing else to do but drink- and that was the pattern for the rest of the weekend- Friday night drinks at the Loft, Saturday breakfast at the greasy spoon followed by dinner at the Reliance and drinks at the loft, Sunday- a day of thesis (and procrastination) followed by dinner at the William IV (th) and drinks at the loft. A week off the piss ending up in a deborturous torture of pub feeds and deep pints.

So where are we?

The young girls left today- happy to be on their way back to the land of Oz, leaving a very jealous B A behind, dreaming of the beach and games of cricket that actually last the distance. My main New Years resolutions of: find a job, find a place to live, loose some weight, and cut back on the piss remain unfulfilled. and the Pickle has a strange odor about it, that apparently can not be solved as we are playing a game of rubbish standoff- who will win? will B A Tron join the ranks of the employed? will he ever manage to go a weekend without threatening the establishments rules for gentleman's behavior?

Find out all this and more in our next post- later in the week.

Peace Out

W M Lovell