Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Bingey McBingeBinge

Finally, after the longest of times, I've managed to lay my eyes once more upon the God among men that is Benjamin Burns. And let us not forget his beautiful ladywife Natalie! And Matthew! Matthew, our own little Adam Buxton, a little island of absolutely madcap hilarity in this great ocean of grey boredom. And you'll never guess what we four, party loving, alcohol appreciating perfectly legally drinking 18 year olds did; yea, that's right, we went to Nottingham, binge drinking capital of the orient that is our belovedly sleezy East Midlands.

We started the night at the Gatehouse with a bottle of Magners that Natalie could not convince me to let her pay for, that is up until Ben told me to let her. I'm not sure why I agreed with Ben, maybe it's because I don't really like spending a lady's money and in having Ben ask I was tricked, or maybe it was the fear that Ben might beat me up a little. Either way, the drinks were bought and consumed in the chilly night air of the Nottingham pavement.

I can't remember the conversation exactly, apart from I remember Natalie talking about she used to drink there when it was a smelly old man pub and she was under age (before the massive crackdowns on ID) every Sunday before Rock City. Apparently they never cottoned on that Sundays were under 18s nights.

From there we headed upto Cast, home of the Cherry Stone cocktail and the greatest barman in the world: Chico. We started our stay there by having Chico throw ben a free shot of something potent and green and then moved on to something stronger for all of us. And then another set of shots. And maybe another. And then I got lost trying to go the toilet and ended up in a private area of the bar that I shouldn't have been in. When I finally did find my way to the toilet I couldn't get in because it turns out I was pushing against the side of the door with the hinges on, rather than the one I was supposed to. It's not like I'd had a lot to drink or anything... Heh...

I came back to the bar to find Ben asking for something cool and sippable, and a pitcher of it at that. So, Chico stylishly mixes us up a glass of ice and something horribly tangy and we all take a sip. Ben takes to it alone, although for one reason or another he shouldn't be drinking too much and Natalie's starting to get worried, so I take it upon myself to finish off the glass before Ben can get to it. Blech.

In reconpense Chico mixes us up "something sweet", and this would be the Cherry Stone. One part Amaretto, one part melon liquer and one part cherry liquer. Squeeze a lime into a glass, add the Amaretto, then the melon liquer and then the cherry liquer, shake with vigour and strain. Oh my goodness, it's like drinking a smooth, liquid cherry drop! And doesn't sting in the least! I am enamoured! Woohoo!

Ben then managed to scrounge some food from the kitchens (as he works there he gets these special privelleges) and got us two whole portions of "thick chips", one "chip" being about an eighth of a giant, planet sized potato. Ooooh, it was all so good! But this is poor quality writing, and I apologise for it, but I am quite tired and I do still stink of cherries. You'd imagine it'd be nice, but it's been twelve hours now and I'm just feeling ill.

After a while some of Ben's cook friends showed up; some nice fellas and some scarily chavish guys. I'm not sure quite what first allerted me to it, the branded tracksuit, the hoody, the cap or the "air shox", or the fact that when talked to about food he would always respond by claiming that whatever it was was "fuckin' wicked, man".

I never ever thought I'd hear someone ever say "panacetta, fuckin' wicked, man. Fuckin' wicked."

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