...that Sunday afternoon is the best time to get drunk. Somehow, things are much funnier then. Like dancing to Five's 'Greatest Hits'. I guess the fact that Sundays are invariably spent hungover lowers your defences, and you are left more open to laughing like a twat, or crying during films (I only ever do this on Sunday evenings). The mark of a beast of a Saturday night is the ability to be reduced to tears by any film the following day.

So it's a tragedy when - after a handful of pints - one has to stem one's flow and work in the evening. The first three hours were a complete struggle, during which I aged three decades. I didn't think I'd make it through.

But the day was saved by Impish Northern Bar-Manager. She chose this shift to invent Great Uncle Cornelius's Skoma Island Iced-Tea, a surprisingly lush cocktail with vodka, gin, triple sec, rum, lemonade, flaming orange peel (orange peel is flammable - who knew ?), and Great Uncle Cornelius's Finest Spiced Ginger :

When these slyly crippling beasts are released on the public, they will be served in a glass with a massive moustache on, with the cheer of "here's your drink, by George".

Impish Northern Bar-Manager also introduced me to some of her word games, including 'Cheese Cars' (e.g. Cathedral Citroën, Swiss-an Micra), and 'Animal Desserts' (e.g. Creme Caribou, Meringue-Utang).

And then Nooma showed up (sans boyfriend), and we had a good old natter. For which I got paid. Maybe everyday being like Sunday wouldn't be so bad.