You know you’re in trouble when there’s champagne and there’s no special occasion apart from it being Saturday night. I think back to my young drunken rampage through a gay club in Kings Cross, bankers to the left of me, bankers to the right of me, bottles of champagne everywhere… where did the money go?) Tonight was fairly calm; we put the kids into the hands of our babysitter and then fled to our friends’ place, avoiding all parental responsibility.
In hand we had two games, King of New York and Exploding Kittens. With the benefit of hindsight it is clear that nobody enjoys their first game of King of New York because nobody knows what the hell is going on – second time and beyond it’s great, but I wonder how they ever have any repeat business. Well, clearly it’s people like me, hypnotised by cool graphics and the thought of laying waste to a major city. (And, of course, Captain Fish.)
We played Blokus, a game more vicious than Monopoly, ate our own bodyweight in cheese, and found a new way to trick children into eating cherry tomatoes. You just refer to them as ‘red grapes’ and stick to your guns. That’s probably advice I’ll try to apply to all parts of my life. Apart from encouraging La Serpiente to eat grapes, of course.
My unbeaten run on Exploding Kittens was finally disrupted, although I think this is because my wife was full of vitriol (and gin and champagne) and was encouraging our hosts to attack me too much. Bloodied but unbowed, I will return to the fray.
Once I’m sober, that is.
If I’m sober, that is.