The Doughnut Bandit Strikes at Midnight!

As I type this it's snowing out. Actually, it’s more of a cross between snow and hail, snailing if you will. Thanks for all the birthday wishes everyone. I had a nice relaxing time of doing nothing all day. Shan and I both took the day off work, so it was almost like a long weekend for us, barring Friday. Saturday was St. Patrick's Day, so the entire flat ventured off to an Irish pub in Islington called Filthy McNasty's, where we met up with Hans and some French people that Chris knew from his work. Ireland was playing in the Six Nations rugby against Italy, so the entire pub would erupt every time Ireland scored a try.

The French people left, and so we decided to head to a bigger Irish pub in Piccadilly Circus, but it was too full. So we ducked into a different pub that happened to be handing out free pints of Guinness. It turned out the French people we had been drinking with earlier had also been lured by the offer of cost-free Irish beer. By this time the Irish were getting a little distraught having learned that France had stolen the Six Nations trophy away from them, defeating Scotland by a higher margin then Ireland managed against Italy.

We left for the Maple Leaf pub, but were turned away as it was too crowded. I almost managed to bribe the doorman with mini-doughnuts, but he has just eaten. Since we were in Covent Garden anyway, we chilled out in the square with the buskers for a bit. We almost went home, but Warren received an urgent text message revealing that friends of his were in Belushis pub, which was just the other side of Covent Garden. Belushi’s was also full, and I had run out of Doughnuts, but we still managed to sneak our selves in. We cunningly disguised our one group of four people by breaking up into four separate groups of one person. The pub was stupidly full, and I had a tray of Corona’s dropped on me with in five minutes.

Shannon and I left Chris and Warren at the pub as I wanted to head home so I could watch the first F1 race of the season (since it was in Australia, it was not going to start until 3:00am GMT) and Shannon was happy, as that meant we would get home by train, instead of having to fight our way back on the Night Buses.

I even had time to catch a few hours sleep before the race. I was preparing for a nice quite house when Warren, Chris and co. arrived just as the race was starting. Chris likes to serenade the flat when he has been drinking, so even Shannon ended up watching the race for a bit.

On Sunday we took the Docklands Light Railway down to Greenwich and proceed to summit the hill. It’s not quite the Himalayas, but it’s about as close as you can get to it in London. The altitude (and possibly the effects of the night before) had taken it’s toll on poor Warren, so he headed home. Then we were three.

Shannon had the fantastic idea to go and see Hot Fuzz, so that’s exactly what we did. It Is Fantastic! One of my favourite films this year, and it was made by the same people who did Shaun of the Dead. I even bought popcorn.

I thought that was pretty good for one weekend, but then Warren’s phone rang again. People had seen his ad on the Gumtree and wanted to see the flat. In ten minutes time. We were in no state to show people round, let alone discuss such complex issues as rent, bills and deposit. And, as they say, much hilarity ensued. In the end, they seemed pretty interested, so I don’t think I came across as demented as I feared. Little do they know.