Uh-oh. Mid week drinkies. Poor show.

Neil Lennon looks like he’s just had his face smacked against the Peace Wall repeatedly. He still can’t answer any questions without using ‘Like’ at least three times per sentence. But as he says, I suppose that’s par for the course. I cant believe I’ve just blogged about Celtic’s new manager. At least he’s Irish, even if he is GINGER.

So, myself and my colleagues were seeing off one of our order this afternoon. Alan is leaving to pursue some sort of proper career in Mansfield and fair play to him. This necessitated lots of pints of course, and Ollie and I rallied each other as we have a very important and strategic event tomorrow. Each time I said it was the last one he bought me another one, and vice versa. Outcome? Pissed Ollie & Ruth, in the chippy at 9pm trying to convince each other that we will be on TOP FORM tomorrow when the chap from The EU comes to visit us at the City Chambers.

Shit!

Ollie had better bring the Berocca. Tomorrow’s gonna be painful. To make matters worse (and at the same time more interesting) my good friend Andy entered the pub on an impromptu visit from Newcastle, and proceeded to buy me yet another pint. I foolishly followed him to a flat on Brunswick St where I was ritually fed Rum (only one, mind you) with ice and lime juice.

I eventually rocked home and found Jamie resplendent in his Bob Dylan wig, all set for this Friday’s party.

I’ve all of a sudden been taken speechless by the sight of Reg Empey participating in the Northern irish Leaders’ Debate. He is like something out of Dr. Seuss. Seriously, I am signing off, Northern Irish Politics has yet again bowled me over with the silliness of its leaders. Boke Central.

Reg Empey shortly after his Colonic Irrigation, Saturday

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