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The night before the big day I really got the fear about the
whole
"no planning" thing. My brother
picked me up from Cheshunt and drove us down to his flat in Muswell
Hill. On the way we picked up a Monopoly board, a tube of superglue and
four pizzas. Plan is to make a commerative framed board for me with the
photos we took outside each pub next to the properties. Given the fact
that he still hasn't got round to engraving the cups he awarded from
the table football tournament we had over a year ago ... I am not
holding my breath (as per the 24th February (and now the 29th May)), he
is supposedly checking up on sobers
claims that he can produce Monopoly Board property sized photos to
order ... more information as it happens - as of the 19th August, the
photos have been produced by Senor
Sobers and the ball is back in my brother's court) ...
The superglue was to make gay little broach pins out of the
monopoly
playing pieces (and they all scoffed and said it wouldn't work, the
fools) ... pizzas to fuel us while we used my brother's incredibly slow
internet connection to do some late-in-the-day planning (going back to
a modem after broadband is painful indeed). The only upside of sitting
there with an A-to-Z and a suppossed 56kbps connection was that the
clock ticked over past midnight so I got to open my presents (a toy
pinball machine in lieu of the real one
my wife had on order for me which was delivered on the 10th April and a
real "yard of ale" vessel from my brother - needless to say it was not
christened on this occasion). When I headed to bed around one o'clock
the nutter was around Regent Street and still planning with the words
"it's not fair to put the pressure on the
Ox and rely completely on him". As noted, when it came to it that
is exactly what we did ...
We decided that while we toured the board, we would obtain a
photo
outside each venue (this proved to be very hard for pissed up brains to
remember ... when you turn up at a place you're in a rush to get in
there and get the beer ordering underway ... once the beers are sunk
the only thing in your mind is getting on to the next one) and to
record an entry and exit time for each place (also surpisingly
difficult to do in the heat of the moment). For consistency, times were
recorded as the moment I crossed the threshold in and out of each pub.
As you can imagine, the record
sheet
got a bit worn by the end of the twelve hours.
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