That "s" business is just a colloquialism

In response to my previous post's title, my grandmother, a former English teacher, emails me:

"Sorry Pet...it is none of those.  It's the New Year or Happy New Year To You.  Hope you have a wonderful New Year.  How did you celebrate the New Year?   That "s" business, I'm afraid, is just colloquialism. "

Thanks GSus!

And since she wants to know how it went... here we go...

I struck a lovely combination of the two drawings... Fantastic hair, comfy sweater. I wore earrings, darling.

Did I ever tell you what my friend, Roo, says about wearing earrings when going out?

"No, I can't go to the local, darling. It's a bit grim. I don't want to go to a grim place. I've got earrings on. Fucking earrings, darling!"

I love her.

Because it's so true. My sense of dressed up style is indicated by what I think is "dressy", i.e., earrings, necklace, makeup, clean hair...and a belt. I ain't dressy if I isn't wearing a belt. Shoes optional.

So, the New Year Eve pub crawl began at the local regardless of my earlobe accoutrement. And I began the twitter...

Colpitts Pub

The blokes: Rob Scotty, John, and Bri who is Roo's husband

Excellent music choices at the Angel.

At some point while still at the Angel, I told a woman who was with us (for a short while) that I would happily foster her son and daughter-in-law's cat. I fully expect a call any minute.

This was outside the pub. The drink, it is my friend and warmed my brain.

Okay, so I got antsy and decided to take the rest of the tweets as one screen shot. They are in reverse order here... the top is the most recent tweet... so read from the bottom up for the reenacting or reliving vicariously through me.

Teenagers were crawling everywhere at the Angel. Some had pints in their hands, some had cigarettes...some had both. They were easily ignorable. I did commandeer the jukebox, choosing Radiohead, Johnny Cash and a couple of other songs... It was like home. 

However, the girl (old lady, possibly) in the red leather fringe boots was frowned upon by all in my group... Apparently, that's just not done. Snobs. I disagreed, 'murrican style! 

Went across the street to The Elm Tree to see if Rita and Mugsy (under-the-table-cash-bosses) were in. They weren't (yet, as I found out later) so it was decided that karaoke was a next must. According to the blokes, only one place for karaoke: The Fighting Cocks.

Outside Fighting Cocks pub. Very nice bouncer, I can't remember his name, but he knew  all three  men's names. Probably not a totally great thing.

There was no karaoke.

Taxi rank. Let me add now here that it was about 5:45 to 6:15 -ish pm.

We moved on to the Market Tavern from the dithering outside the Fighting Cocks. There, we got down to business...discussing politics and culture and cultural politics...

At the Market Tavern. I stood a round because, you know, I wanted to be a friend. John shall explain in the video:

John's the kind of guy who could "talk for England".

While at the Market Tavern, I get a text from Roo:

Roo: How is it going? Hope the boys are playing nice 

Me: Oh yrs (sic)*..they're talking me about Thatcher. And harry enfuelds women know your limits

Ruth: Indeed. Know your limits x 

Me: Am definitely past my limit 

*this means that I am writing verbatim the entirety of the text conversation.

Hmm, am now understanding tons more after watching this video. Was told that yogurt is the cure for a hangover.


Also, received communiques from SciMan...his responses to my asking if I could stay out just a bit longer were always "Yes". The blokes would always ask if I was in trouble whenever I sent a text, so I finally showed them what SciMan said about me staying out a bit later. To a man, each said, 

"Oh you're alright then."

I guess they're so used to having to try to interpret their women's texts when they're out on a night with the lads.

We leave the Market Tavern and mill about trying to decide what was next. I knew I was at my limit and I needed/wanted to let SciMan have his turn out with the lads. But not before we go back to The Fighting Cocks for one last pint for them, a "full fat" Coke for me. Since none of the lads were "on the pull", there was dancing like eejits, namely me and John. A grand time, definitely. And then homeward bound, where the taxi fare started at £4.50 and ended over £10. Normally, I would've taken a bus home, but buses stopped running at 6pm and I hadn't yet had my fill of drink by then. Ah well.

All total: 5.5 pints consumed that night, which I guesstimate to be about 15 Oklahoma beers. I got home around 8, maybe? Immediately I crashed onto the couch where I stayed until 5 am or so. SciMan joined up with the gang after I got back, so at least he got to have some good times too.


I'm okay with the tag-team party rounds one must do if one does not want to pay through the nose for babysitting, but someday I'd like to be able to stay awake, on purpose, on the New Year Eve.