3 Sounds That Mean Mess:

1. Loud pop.
2. Iain saying: "Oh, for fuck's sake."
3. Sound of liquid (lots) splattering on floor.

Sounds 1-3 were heard, in that order, during our Saturday champagne fry up. Between "hot" Carl blasting off the necks of champs bottles with a kitchen knife, the neighbor lady warning us to not be any louder, Iain aiming for Dave's butt while popping corks, and Paul describing his varsity initiation, I think that the champagne fry up was really cool. I mean, when better to kill a case of champagne than Saturday mid-afternoon in the sun? Which brings me to a point that seems really obvious in London. People here drink a lot. Frequently, and in large doses. Is it because there's nothing else to do? Friday afternoon, we rocked into a restaurant on the South Bank. Lochnerd knows it's 2 for 1 cocktails at the hour. So she buys 10 at a time. The next thing we know, we're at Canary Wharf, it's 11pm, and Paul's making sure she's on the correct train home. After the champagne fry up, the rest of the crew headed out to see Foo Fighters at Hyde, while I met up with J'Ro and Anna for a bit of a house party in Angel. J'Ro and I knocked back a bottle of Tanquerey No. 10. I had gin burps all yesterday, and my stomach was really angry with me. Still is. Now, I understand that it's been hot lately in London. Hydration is key. But should I start getting concerned about my alcohol intake? Hmm, probably not.

Pic sent to me from Lochnerd. Wedding photos are just precious. Ok, back to being Automaton computer jockey.