Pinkery

Curiously relaxing evening, all things considered. Not as if I didn't need it. Invited to "Big Gay Night Out" by my big gay workmate and those of the chaps from the office that dared. So off to the Northbank it was, to walk into what looked decidedly shabby from the outside but was actually alright, and curtain up on an evening of drag queens, a little bit of outrageousness on behalf of those who wish to partake in such things, Rolf Harris songs and all that pink jazz. Actually a very good night out; if not just the change of scene, made the conscious realisation that I'm an uberstressed twat at the moment and I aught to lighten up on the colleagues a bit. Well, some of them at least.

Speaking of things that are bad for your arse - and if that isn't the tackiest link I've ever used I don't know what is - I found myself back in Hometown a week or so back; more Winter Ale Festivalling for the use of. Does the man never get enough? Frankly no. Going from the enormous to the very very small, it leaves behind the majesty of the enormous Manchester shindig and is a simple 30 barrel show in a social club, run by my old branch of CAMRA as a side event to their big one in September. I have a list of beers I drank. But I cannot find it. Which is a shame because there were a lot of really tasty, naughty beers all from within 30 miles or so of Hometown, and there was one in particular I had to warn you about because it drinks like a four percent bitter but it's actually a 9.5, which will hurt and I can confirm does! Oh, and the Perry that's on at the moment at the seafront bar up here is most fine as well. That hurts too.

The Mike Mobile telecoms device is up on blocks at the moment which is most unfortunate. The backup is running, but hasn't many numbers on it as Captain Clever keeps all of them on the phone's internal memory so if you're not getting textbabble from me, don't worry, I'm not ignoring you, just can't find you.