Dale came to stay for the weekend, so I've been running round like a headless chicken this weekend. Met him off the train on Friday then we went to Grace's house (his friend's friend) to play some crazy drinking game which had clearly been made as a spur of the moment thing at some point. The general premise was this: There are a pile of cards in the middle of the floor. Each person takes a card when it is their turn. Every card has a meaning. Every meaning results in one or more people drinking varying amounts of alcohol.

On Saturday we drove to Devil's Bridge to see the area and were genuinely surprised to find out that it was shit. I was truly disappointed to find that they expect people to pay to get to the various parts - even in the winter. £1 to see the Punch Bowl, £2 for the "Nature Trail" to the waterfalls. I found that the exit turnstile for the punchbowl was broken and so we were able to get through that for free, but no such luck with the waterfalls. In fact the money slot was jammed so we couldn't have paid even if we'd wanted to.

When we got back we faffed with my computer for a bit, compiling a Direct Connect client. Then it was off to the pub with us again. I'd agreed to meet up with James and we found him in Wetherspoons with some drunk guy I'd not met before. I should have known the evening was going to be a mad one when we passed the two drunk dicks fighting in the street on the way. Went to the bar and got some beer. Found James at a table with another drunk. The first drunk was now immitating Ali G very loudly and very badly. The other drunk was quiet at least...or so I thought.

Suddenly he saw a friend that he was waiting for and so screamed across the patio at the top of his voice. Everyone looked. I could have died. I could have killed James. The third drunk then came and sat down. I noticed that both no. 2 and no. 3 had plasters all over their hands. Suddenly the pair of them were thrusting their hands into their pints, spilling beer everywhere in the process and making a whole lot of noise. Again everyone was looking.

This went on for some time. No. 2 was clearly in agony. Eventually he took his hand out, and No. 3 emptied the remainder of the pint over his head. There was a quiet 5 minute period while they both waited for their hands to warm back up a little, and then they went and sat at their own table. No. 1 took this as an opportunity to start interrogating James on some date that he had been on earlier that day.

Not long after, No. 2 came back to show us that he had removed his plasters and that he was bleeding again. He seemed somewhat proud of this achievement, and to show everyone how proud he was he tried to bleed in No. 1's pint. As you can imagine my pint was very quickly removed from the table and held a suitable distance from No. 2. No. 2 then repeatedly stuck his finger into the remenants of his pint to show us all that he could withstand pain - or at least that's what I assume. The pint was red by the time James had been to the bar, got two plasters and returned. I'd had enough by this point so we legged it. James found us about 5 minutes later and asked if we'd seen No. 1. I pointed in the direction of the door I had seen him disappear through and James disappeared. That was the last we saw of him.

The girls then arrived and we went and shivered outside for a little longer before moving onto the Cambrian. It was Dale's turn to buy the beer and I ordered a Pint of C3PO. Now perhaps I'm getting old or something, but when I order a pint I expect to get my drink in a pint glass filled to the top - because that's how the measurements work. If there is a 1 pint guide line then I expect my drink to reach that line. There was no guideline in this instance, so the glass should have been full. The drink came about three quarters of the way up the glass. This picture shows how the drink arrived. No I'd not drunk any of it. The top inch or so was ice too.

After the Cambrian we wandered down to the Bay. We fought our way in and I found a table. I sat at it for ages until eventually Dale came and found me and said that the girls didn't want a table, they just wanted to dance. FS. So I went and stood with them while they danced. Repeatedly they attempted to make me dance. Repeatedly they failed. I don't understand why people feel that they have to dance when out, and I don't see why people can't understand that I don't like to dance. I stood and looked out over the sea of people dancing in that place. Only one of them had any rhythm, and she was ugly (sorry but it's true). I know I can't dance and I don't like to draw attention to the fact that I can't dance - so I don't. Why don't people understand that? If there's an absolutely amazing song playing and I feel relaxed and comfortable then I may dance, but people trying to force me to dance just makes me feel more awkward.

Anyway the evening ended with a trip to the room a the back of the Bay which was thick with cigarette smoke, we could barely see the other side of the room.

This morning I put Dale on the train to Birmingham New Street and then returned to my flat where I promptly adopted a lazy sod attitude and did nothing.