Saturday Night

It’s clear, looking back on the evening, that from the tree of possibilities presented we chose a rotten branch which was then followed right through to the shrivelled fruit at its end.

Bars were shut, full, too busy or too loud. A local drink took on bus and train and taxi journeys.

The tequilas made us nauseous rather than numb (even failing to remove the taste of cheap white wine). Combined with shouting over the obnoxious sub-music cigarettes just hastened hoarseness. Queasy and silent we sat wondering whether we’d had our eight pound entrance fee’s worth of fun while considering the knots and twigs of a mediocre night out.