Sunday, 11 August 2013

Reunions are best when they are messy





































I opened my eyes and let them adjust to the glare of the morning light.


My head throbbed and my mouth was dry. I was stiff from the hard wooden floor which I had passed out on and my neck was sore from using my boots as a pillow.



I looked around the room and when I moved I noticed a large bump on my head and saw that my mate Chris had a black eye.



All in all a rather good night out even if we had woken up in a strange flat in Tooting the wrong side of London.



This all started out as a quiet knees up where a group of people all connected by their experiences in Spain at the festival of San Fermin.

The bull runners reunion started brightly and then became very messy. A combination of British, Australian and South African souls all brought together to drink and chat.

Meeting at the weatherspoons at Liverpool street station and moving onwards via the Mayor of scardy cat town we entered Alex's place of work. Amber bar.

Our South African friendly barman of bull running cut knees fame greeted us warmly and suddenly out of nowhere a large metal bowl full of ice and wife beater Stella Artois appeared on the table.

I have no idea if anyone paid for it but we duly consumed the ot before moving onwards again and then somehow ending up in a club/bar in Clapham.

By this time Chris and I were trying to push ourselves into bushes, bins and lampposts which is how he managed to get a shiner on his right eye.

All these images came flooding back to me through wisps of headache and dry mouth gasps.

Laughs, tears, drinks galore and silly antics all came flooding back to me as I sat up on the floor and checked my pockets for receipts and any change.

Jeddy wandered in looking sweaty and even paler than normal and my mate Wings had already done a runner in the morning to get back for cricket.

This left us with a journey home that took 2 hours and 20 minutes.

 It was the longest journey of my life as we sat on a rain stinking of booze, looking dishevelled with ruffled and  creased shirts and sleep in our eyes.

When we got to Shenfield station the cabbie took one look at us and said 'Just coming home from a night out are we lads', with a knowing wink.

I slumped into bed and slept for two long hours undisturbed.

Reunions are brilliant things, and even better when they have random endings. Minus the wooden floor bed of course.

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