Manc's for the memories

Ah yes, those photo shop filters never cease to amuse. This is mostly to disguise the starry look in Loved One's eye and the flushed skin of Billsworth. A trip to Manchester inevitably involves the odd drink, and Saturday night was no exception. Rather than ease our way into the afternoon with a genteel glass of chenin blanc and polite banter, a keg of Dethmuller was cracked open and plonked down next to some jugs of Sangria. As I'd already opened a Magners, I was mildly concerned that we may have been leaping into proceedings with unnecessary enthusiasm. Come 7 o'clock, we'd polished all that off and were violating the odd bottle of red. Come 8, we seemed to suddenly be on Brandy Sours. Come 9 I recall Disarrano and Christ preserve us, was that tequila? Come ten, an element of nudity is creeping in, nipples are being flashed and there is random falling over. Come eleven, we are discordantly abusing the Rocky Horror back catalogue and the jaunty labrador pup has turned into some crazed hellhound, all glowing eyeballs and salivating jaws, or was that just me in the bathroom mirror? Come twelve and I appear to be back on the Magners, and the last taco shell is dribbling into Loved One's hair from her brother's mouth. I'm hoping by 1 we'd gone to bed, please let it be so.

Ah well, at least we scored a bargain on a sofa thanks to Grand-ma-age, hopefully one day soon we'll have a house to put it in.

B

For more evidence visit flickr