Ugly Poncho Threatens to Distract Drinking, Fails

They (the world) say to write, you must write what you know.  Sadly, I know nothing.

However, even I can envisage that if you spend less than two euro on an item of clothing, it will not rock your world.

So I found it odd that upon opening the cheap packaging that Spongecake had spent a titanic €1.99 on, she then cried a disgusted ”What the fuck???”.  She had just set eyes on the plastic poncho she had bought, at a newsagents, for the first time.   I think she was expecting something that would not look like something a cretin would wear, but how could it under these circumstances.

Horrifically, once we got inside our third pub and the poncho came off, I was the one that had to carry it in my handbag.  This meant the next morning, whilst not dying but not bouncing off the walls with energy either, it was a frightening thing to behold when I went to look for my purse to buy croissants with and it’s bright blue self protruded at me from the depths.

It is best to hide your resolution to go drinking under the illusion of having afternoon tea.  We had our afternoon tea and scones (seriously, I can’t stop eating them) with some wine (beer for Spongecake), then hit a bar on the quays that serves Thai beer, then another bar for gin (vodka for Spongecake), then another bar for beer where the toilet has not been renovated (or cleaned) since the 1960’s, then another bar for more beer where you walk through the door and the one gay at the door hears you (or Spongecake) saying ‘nice bit of cock in here’ and immediately wants to be your friend.

I do remember meeting Spongecake’s (married) friends who did not even pretend to look away when she flashed her heaving chesticle at them, and swopping our shoes at one stage because mine had wedge heels and I am such a non girl my feet even hurt in THOSE, and Spongecakes’ were flat.  It was also very hard to change our shoes back again whilst standing but we distracted attention away from our falling over by blaming two very serious blokes with beards and horn rimmed glasses on an eggy fart we caught when the back door opened, something they displayed absolutely no sense of humour about, nor lowered themselves to discuss with us.  I think they went back to their corner to discuss the rubbishy sonnets they wished they were composing.

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