St. Patrick's Day came and went, and it was certainly a lot better than last year when I had barely unpacked from my arrival in Leicester. I even managed to get one of those goofy hats. Not the one pictured in the post below, that was actually taken prior to the event.
I have added more hosteleries to take visitors from oop north to when they come down to visit, and deduced that the Last Plantaginet is still the best pub in Leicester. Not only does it close at 1am on a Friday now (!) it also has a taxi rank right out in front of it, sells bottles of blonde Leffe for £1.65 and doesn't play loud booming music that drowns out stimulating(?) conversation. This shangrila does come at a terrible price however as I was somewhat worse for wear on Saturday morning. I put this down to one of 4 hypotheses:-
1. I am getting old.
2. I haven't been -really, really- drunk in quite some time.
3. Guinness and I have been estranged for too long.
4. All of the above.
Sadly there was little respite to be had as I had a birthday party to attend on Saturday evening. Swearing off the demon drink I finally started getting ready about 5pm, noting a slight tiredness and slugishness as I went for yet another Chinese buffet (same sort of food, slightly pricier, no ice cream to play the dessert game with) and Henry's Champagne Bar, where I was introduced to Mr. Henry himself and did not succumb to the urge to drink Champagne.
As both Thursday and Sunday were spent in the pub after fencing a worrying trend is beginning to emerge in how I spend my evenings. Rumours of my descent into alcoholism are wholly unfounded.