worry about that. Leave it here.’
‘You can pick it up in the morning,’ said Hannah.
‘Or in the afternoon,’ said Boris grinning.
‘Or Sunday,’ said Hannah.
Friday Evening
Dan had been trying to read the night's twitter feed on his Blackberry but gave up as his fingers were totally uncoordinated. It was quite quiet on line anyway.
Pissed by 8pm, he thought. Oh well done.
He should have known better. Drinking with Boris was a dangerous pastime.
It wasn’t so much the volume, it was the pace that he started drinking at, that was the thing that got you. As soon as he had delivered the first round (Boris, to give him his due, always got the first one in) he had drained his glass and was looking politely but thirstily at the dregs, obliging someone else to finish theirs and get the next round in, fighting their way through the Friday night scrum at the bar. This would be repeated again and again and suddenly you were drinking at his pace. Then the sod would almost stop, sipping his pints and storing them up. It was almost biblical; there was definitely some feast and famine thing going on. The trouble was it took a while for his drinking partners to notice, they would be in the rhythm by this stage, slightly too fuzzy headed to notice that the pacemaker had pulled over to the side of the track. No they were too far down the slippery slope that would end up with some of them cuddling a kebab in the early hours of the morning.
Dan was with them. Drinking beer too, oh that was bad news. He just couldn’t handle the volume any more. He was fine with G&T’s and wine, he could drink all night, but beer got to him.
So here he was at 8pm feeling no pain at all but with a nasty nagging feeling in the sober part of his mind that this was not going to end well.
He had reached the stage where he kept losing the thread of conversations, where it was too much to make the effort to strain to hear what people were saying. The pub was huge yet packed, the noise poured over him. He wasn’t even sure he knew where he was. Somewhere on Deansgate he knew that. They had been in Bar 37 but they had left there an hour before.
The noise level seemed to swell. It was like white noise now. You needed to shout to hold a conversation and had to really concentrate to understand what people were saying around you.
Concentration implied you had to have a working mind of course.
Dan grinned to himself at this thought. He just found it ridiculously amusing and couldn’t stop himself.
‘What’s tickled you?’ yelled Jenny in his ear.
There were seven of them now. Boris, Hannah and her boyfriend Greg, Jenny, Martin and Craig, the latter two surveyors from rival firms. They had all met up in Bar 37 and had moved on together when they had tired of the crush and conversation there.
‘Nothing, just a silly thought,’ he shouted back at Jenny leaning close to her so she had a chance of hearing. Now she was this close he had realised just how pretty she was and she certainly had curves in all the right places. Perhaps she was slightly too plump for the current vogue but she had a sweet smile and was definitely starting to hit all the right buttons with him.
‘Any plans for the weekend?’ She had leant even closer to him. He could feel the heat of her body and her perfume filled his senses. He found himself becoming slightly aroused.
‘Nope. Just the usual weekend chores. Shopping, cleaning the flat,’ he yelled back.
‘Same here. It’s a glamorous, exciting life isn’t it?’
‘Yeah. Living the dream! Nothing else planned?’
‘Nah, nothing special. Might go clubbing though, tomorrow night. Fancy coming?’
Dan groaned inwardly. He really hated clubs and the club scene.
‘Yeah, OK,’ he found himself saying.
‘Great!’ she shouted back, ‘I’ll give you a call. Can I have your number?’
Dan passed over his card and got hers in return. As he put it away in his wallet he saw Hannah give them both a
‘You can pick it up in the morning,’ said Hannah.
‘Or in the afternoon,’ said Boris grinning.
‘Or Sunday,’ said Hannah.
Friday Evening
Dan had been trying to read the night's twitter feed on his Blackberry but gave up as his fingers were totally uncoordinated. It was quite quiet on line anyway.
Pissed by 8pm, he thought. Oh well done.
He should have known better. Drinking with Boris was a dangerous pastime.
It wasn’t so much the volume, it was the pace that he started drinking at, that was the thing that got you. As soon as he had delivered the first round (Boris, to give him his due, always got the first one in) he had drained his glass and was looking politely but thirstily at the dregs, obliging someone else to finish theirs and get the next round in, fighting their way through the Friday night scrum at the bar. This would be repeated again and again and suddenly you were drinking at his pace. Then the sod would almost stop, sipping his pints and storing them up. It was almost biblical; there was definitely some feast and famine thing going on. The trouble was it took a while for his drinking partners to notice, they would be in the rhythm by this stage, slightly too fuzzy headed to notice that the pacemaker had pulled over to the side of the track. No they were too far down the slippery slope that would end up with some of them cuddling a kebab in the early hours of the morning.
Dan was with them. Drinking beer too, oh that was bad news. He just couldn’t handle the volume any more. He was fine with G&T’s and wine, he could drink all night, but beer got to him.
So here he was at 8pm feeling no pain at all but with a nasty nagging feeling in the sober part of his mind that this was not going to end well.
He had reached the stage where he kept losing the thread of conversations, where it was too much to make the effort to strain to hear what people were saying. The pub was huge yet packed, the noise poured over him. He wasn’t even sure he knew where he was. Somewhere on Deansgate he knew that. They had been in Bar 37 but they had left there an hour before.
The noise level seemed to swell. It was like white noise now. You needed to shout to hold a conversation and had to really concentrate to understand what people were saying around you.
Concentration implied you had to have a working mind of course.
Dan grinned to himself at this thought. He just found it ridiculously amusing and couldn’t stop himself.
‘What’s tickled you?’ yelled Jenny in his ear.
There were seven of them now. Boris, Hannah and her boyfriend Greg, Jenny, Martin and Craig, the latter two surveyors from rival firms. They had all met up in Bar 37 and had moved on together when they had tired of the crush and conversation there.
‘Nothing, just a silly thought,’ he shouted back at Jenny leaning close to her so she had a chance of hearing. Now she was this close he had realised just how pretty she was and she certainly had curves in all the right places. Perhaps she was slightly too plump for the current vogue but she had a sweet smile and was definitely starting to hit all the right buttons with him.
‘Any plans for the weekend?’ She had leant even closer to him. He could feel the heat of her body and her perfume filled his senses. He found himself becoming slightly aroused.
‘Nope. Just the usual weekend chores. Shopping, cleaning the flat,’ he yelled back.
‘Same here. It’s a glamorous, exciting life isn’t it?’
‘Yeah. Living the dream! Nothing else planned?’
‘Nah, nothing special. Might go clubbing though, tomorrow night. Fancy coming?’
Dan groaned inwardly. He really hated clubs and the club scene.
‘Yeah, OK,’ he found himself saying.
‘Great!’ she shouted back, ‘I’ll give you a call. Can I have your number?’
Dan passed over his card and got hers in return. As he put it away in his wallet he saw Hannah give them both a
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