Wish You Were Here

Sometimes you get those random nights when you really, really just want to stay.

But you can’t because you’re the stupid bugger who has to get up to go to work the next day at some ungodly hour, while everyone else is living the high life, high fiving and drinking shots and other such irritating obnoxious behaviour (to the poor bedraggled bugger who has to go to work that is).

As I’ve said before, Thursday is the best night in Taps (as long as the scum stay away – which last night they did). Best atmosphere and best crowd. But sometimes – and this is an interesting paradox – sometimes it can be too good.

I got in around 7 as usual and knocked off the Mail crossword with Daryl and Casey (who apparently wasn’t staying long), and then unsuccessfully had a go at the Guardian Cryptic at Casey’s hubristic instigation (sometime during which Daryl left – fleeing the field of battle – discretion being the better part of valour and all that). Eventually (and in humiliation) we gave up on the Guardian, and instead communally (with sometime support from Irena, Fran and John) did the Evening Standard – which, for some reason, turned out to be unreasonably tough yesterday.

Now to many people I have no doubt that this sounds incredibly boring, but to me this is a perfect evening. 

At some point during the evening Irena decided that she would be drinking that night as well, and then Jade and Gareth came back from the George/Kings Head – and Casey sang a bit – and somehow managed to drag Gareth up (Gareth who can sing, but who chooses not to because he’s to cool for all that) and all in all, it was a really nice night.

When I left, Jade, Irena and Casey were sat at the bar, and I knew that my brother and cousin would shortly be coming back from the Kings Head (no doubt completely trashed), and I was in absolutely no doubt that everyone was going to continue to have a good time for some hours yet.

In fact probably even a better time now that I was going [This is because I'm convinced that everytime I leave a room everyone always says - and I mean literally and out loud - ‘God, I’m glad he’s gone.’ Convinced of it]

And I so wanted to stay.

But I couldn’t.

Because I was the stupid bugger who had to go to work the next day.