Bacon, Vodka and a Church at midnight
Last Saturday morning was less than enjoyable, shouting Welsh at the sink for the best part of two hours I'd had enough of the punishment. All week I'd been promising myself to keep it small the following Friday, so that I could perhaps enjoy Saturdays the way they're meant to be enjoyed..by looking at the outside world under the glow of a Mac screen.
However, an ill-timed call from Pompy during my first and last pint in Browns, led me down south within the next 50 mins. The evening started quite quiet, even the occasional single was purchased when the lure of a double was only a further 40p. 20 units invariably led to another and before long I was dancing out of tune, and singing out of beat. It really was that bad.
Anyway, walking home at about 1 o'clock, we pass a church. There are a few people outside, but we proceed with caution, not wanting to get too involved with the God Squad at this hour. A few yards down the road however, and someone else hasn't quite got the same idea. A rather un-intellectual drunken rant about Dinosaurs and Darwin filled the air. Some little twat was kicking off, and although I'm a man of science and reason, the gathering outside the church were clearly uneasy. So a mate and I helped move this chap away and restored peace. My good deed for the day and it was only 130am.
THEN it got weird. We were thanked and asked in for a bacon sandwich. All good I thought as I was led down the cloisters by a religious nut. Turns out they're not that bad. I spent the next hour talking to a Vicar in jeans about pretty much everything. It was pretty cool - I wasn't claiming to be right and neither was he, it was just a decent conversation with a chap clearly more sober than me, although I held good ground without sounding too much like a drunken fool pissed off that Father Christmas doesn't actually exist. Turns out they believe in monkeys as well, and there was the occasional time when I thought - Hmm, good point.
Waking up the next day, I thought about the night before, and although you won't catch me sticking a fish to the back of my car, I was very impressed at the way the Church wanted to engage the unengageable - ie the drunken rabble roaming the streets of Pompy on a Friday night. Nice bacon sarnie too.
However, an ill-timed call from Pompy during my first and last pint in Browns, led me down south within the next 50 mins. The evening started quite quiet, even the occasional single was purchased when the lure of a double was only a further 40p. 20 units invariably led to another and before long I was dancing out of tune, and singing out of beat. It really was that bad.
Anyway, walking home at about 1 o'clock, we pass a church. There are a few people outside, but we proceed with caution, not wanting to get too involved with the God Squad at this hour. A few yards down the road however, and someone else hasn't quite got the same idea. A rather un-intellectual drunken rant about Dinosaurs and Darwin filled the air. Some little twat was kicking off, and although I'm a man of science and reason, the gathering outside the church were clearly uneasy. So a mate and I helped move this chap away and restored peace. My good deed for the day and it was only 130am.
THEN it got weird. We were thanked and asked in for a bacon sandwich. All good I thought as I was led down the cloisters by a religious nut. Turns out they're not that bad. I spent the next hour talking to a Vicar in jeans about pretty much everything. It was pretty cool - I wasn't claiming to be right and neither was he, it was just a decent conversation with a chap clearly more sober than me, although I held good ground without sounding too much like a drunken fool pissed off that Father Christmas doesn't actually exist. Turns out they believe in monkeys as well, and there was the occasional time when I thought - Hmm, good point.
Waking up the next day, I thought about the night before, and although you won't catch me sticking a fish to the back of my car, I was very impressed at the way the Church wanted to engage the unengageable - ie the drunken rabble roaming the streets of Pompy on a Friday night. Nice bacon sarnie too.
