What's the story?

Off to London today for a pub crawl/40th birthday bash. Viewing on the house before we left in the morning: they know we have an agreed offer but had come all the way from the UK so wanted to see it anyway. They were impervious to my hints that the offer was quite low and we weren't legally committed yet... or perhaps just too honourable to get involved in all that.

We flew out from a very windy Carcassonne and I had my usual bad luck with seating - ending up behind the snogging couple again.

Once the kids were all full of dinner and settled down with a good movie (and a babysitter) we all headed out for the first of a sensibly limited four pubs. And by pub number three I remembered exactly why pub crawls are such bad news for me: I seem to have a problem with remembering that I'm not a student any more and it's ok to leave some wine in the glass - instead of getting your money's worth by draining every drop.

The events above happened after the last pub. What is this blipper up to? Best answer wins... the smug satisfaction of victory.

Back home then for karaoke. Over which I'm going to draw a discreet veil. Apparently I had loads of fun. Mr B described me as the Bez of karaoke, dancing around while everyone sang. I didn't take it as a compliment. I prefer to feel I was like a cheerleader, getting everyone up for a song...

I do know, however, that a 5am bedtime was unwise.