night out

Bah, no pub quiz at the Setting Sun last night, cited as being down to 'lack of interest'. And yet we, a group of seven, sat fidgeting and eager, ready to reclaim our quiz crown. Unfortunately we were about the only people there, apart from the dour host who sat, pointlessly-suited, drowning his sorrows at the bar. I felt obscurely sorry for him - he had made the effort. Few else had ventured out.

We had a nice night anyway; pleasant, sober conversation about Vic, Dan and Elisabeth's various MAs; grown-up chatter about the varying levels of our culinary expertise - soon giving way to the usual drunken, excitable nonsense - severe moderation, granted, in comparison with previous efforts, but boozy enough. No hangover today, oddly, but I half-remember a fantastic sequence of alcohol inspired, lurching dreams from the night. Do you ever get that thing when you wake from a satisfyingly odd dream and think 'I should remember that, it would make an excellent novel plot' and then, five minutes later you wake more comprehensively and realise the error of your ways? That what felt moments earlier to be lucid and complex was just the sheer insanity of sleep; consequence-less, unreal and fading fast.