Is it Monday Already??

Another FA Cup final is etched into the history books, and a fair old booze up was had. A good turnout met up in Lloyds bar, but we never made it to the Queens, as JohnnyM was in full on whinge mode. First we tried the Varsity, who couldn't get a signal on BBC 1, so we headed up to the BamBooza, which wasn't even open. Last stop was the Walkabout Australian theme bar, complete with the aroma of stale piss. JohnnyM has had his bar choosing rights revoked. So we watched the game drinking pissy Ozzie lager, with the aroma of urine wafting around us. The game was so-so, Lobon won his taxi fare home, having picked Kanu to score first at odds of 7-1. We marched off back to Lloyds at the final whistle, before descending on Guiseppe's, who horror of horrors had run out of meatballs. We sank a couple of Peroni's, and after a quick Subway pitched up at the City Vaults, were the pace began to take it's toll. KC, who had come over from Castleford was first to set off home, but nearly got in a scrap on the platform at Forster Square. I went round to see if he was alright, and found that there were no trains to Leeds. I walked him across town to the Interchange, and off he went, nearly getting in a fight with same geezer on his way to Leeds. For the rest of us, we were pretty ratted by now, and once again found ourselves back in Lloyds(the choice of bars in Bradford city centre is truly pitiful), where everything gets a bit hazy. I remember seeing Simon and the Boy Dazzler, and Queso having the great idea of going to the casino. My memory then goes blank, until I found myself eating a burger in said casino, with Stevie ordering a bottle of Champagne. Neither of us had much luck. But what of any buffoonery, I hear you ask? Well with the two front runners absent, Shouty was looking after his kids and Funky was doing God knows what, there was an opening for a rank outsider to set out his stall, and one did. Step forward El Grande Queso. As our luck went south as fast as our sobriety, Stevie stepped up to the plate. First off he ordered a big steak dinner, and then proceeded to eat it with all the gusto of a feral toddler. I admit to helping him out on this score, picking it up with bare hands taking a bite, and generally making a spectacle of ourselves. This of course raised the awareness of a passing bouncer, who asked us to settle down. Queso took great offence to this, and began his infamous "Don't you know who I am?" rant, and demanded the poor fellows name to get him fired. This seemed to perplex our burly assailant, who then called in reinforcements. I suddenly had a moment of lucidity, and began to Shepard Mr Queso to the door, with two large geezers in hot pursuit. This didn't stop his rant all the way up the stairs, but we managed to clear the building without coming to any harm. The next hurdle to be cleared was the taxi home. But we had lost almost all of our money, and the local Hackney Carriages wouldn't take us without money up front. As Stevie argued with the drivers, refusing to get out his cab at one point, I decided to lay on the pavement and have a rest. After a few minutes I had a brain wave, and ran Girlington taxis, who I use regularly, and always seem to take pity upon me in my hour of need. They arrived, and me and Queso managed to cobble together enough to get home. I did get a call the next morning from Stevie, he had lost his mobile, thereby sealing his place as buffoon of the evening, for now at least, as I have no idea what the rest got up to. One thing is for sure though. We need to find an alternative venue to Bradford town centre, it sucks.