What a cava-up

We had friends in town from Hong Kong, and my wife had reconnitred a suitable drinking venue in Duxton Hill, so we trooped down there this evening. I’d also just received my 360 degree camera (coincidentally from a supplier in Hong Kong) so we took that with us too, in order to record the whole drunk-fest. There’s far too much swearing and blurriness for me to share the photos here though 🙁

We went to a cava bar called Bar Celona (geddit!?!) where we sat outside, drinking cheap cava. Well, quaffing cheap cava, to be more exact. At $30 a bottle, that’s about the price of 2 pints of beer, so this was a better way to get squiffy fast and cheap. Unfortunately, outside is where all the smokers sit, and we were on an elevated section just above two jabbering harpies, smoking like chimneys that had been trained to blow every last carcinogen up my right nostril, while moaning at top volume about their clients. This was a torture for me: I thrive on specifics, and not knowing what industry they were talking about, but just hearing ‘typical clients’ again and again drove me to the heights of distraction.

Plus, we’d ordered churros and there wasn’t enough chocolate with them. Life is so hard sometimes.

Luckily, after 45 minutes, just when my sinuses were totally on fire, we got moved indoors, and I could revenge myself on my wife’s forcing me to go through this ordeal by ordering truffle fries, which she despises. Although we’d both had enough cava by now that she was drunk enough to eat them, when on any other day truffled fries would have her retching like me when presented with peanut butter. This was a strange night.

Our friends arrived about the time that we’d finished inhaling our second bottle of cava. Or was it the third? Things are starting to get a bit blurry at this point, and although in some world this counts as carbohydrate loading, I’m not really sure this is the best preparation for tomorrow’s race. But really, what could go wrong?

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