The Horrror, the Horror

Who am I kidding? It was always going to end up like this... Having to listen to that bunch of reprobates talking pish for a whole afterveningnight while sipping Erdinger Blue was a non-starter, wasn’t it?

Anyway, I was extremely well behaved. I think.

I didn’t spill any drinks on anybody’s crotch. I didn’t raise a middle finger in the air whenever a lens was in sight. I didn’t abandon the group to talk to an American couple, no matter how interesting their company may be. I did not bore the company to tears with the tales of my travels through the Deep South. I didn’t comment (either positively or negatively) on the physical attributes of my companion’s wives. I did not shoot out of the pub on unsteady flesh and bone and carbon fibre legs without as much as a goodbye or a hug. I did not stay just for one and then headed to football practice. I did not lean on anyone’s oxygen line. I do not call anyone a ponce.

I didn’t rat on anyone. Oops...

Whatever happens in the Guildford stays in the Guildford. Apparently. Pity I didn’t get the brief.