A brief history of HomeTime

Works meal. What's to say about it? Got there eventually, although my colleague attemped to confuse me by being too drunk to direct me to the right pub in the right street, and then asked someone for assistance who was even drunker. Hey ho. I was cross at the time, but that didn't survive the first bottle of Brown Ale, which pleased me.

I came. I saw. I drank a not inconsiderable amount of booze. My fatal mistake was confusing my usual reply of "thanks, I'd love a pint" with the fresh new pretender "thanks, I'd love a scotch" or the jaded old romantic hack "thank, I'd love a sambucca".

Wobbled out at a stupid hour of the night after watching the late pissed up argument between colleagues, being one of the two last men standing I made my way home via Drunkocabs late night beer scooter service for pissed people; dragged my carcass out of my pit at an unsociable insane hour of the morning to go back to work like the bloody hero I am. Spent the day staring at things that had to be stared at with that special behind-the-left-eye-whiskeypain that only a night on this horrid blended rotgut can give you. Deep joy.