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2003-01-20 - 3:44 p.m.

One-armed DJs, broken pubs, bouncers on the make and deely-boppered Abba fans were just some of the random encounters that made Saturday night the bumper adventure that it became aided and abetted as I was, by some of this site�s finest, and they know very well who they are. Just how drunk did we get? Well, writing �fuck� in the condensation of the nightbus window was apparently the height of sophisticated wit, so you have some idea, though to be fair, maybe it was only me that was laughing. In any case, good times.

I often wish that I was a self-made gajillionaire (or better still, someone else had earned the money and then just given it all to me), just so that I could indulge the d�land fantasy dinner party / pub crawl / liver-rending bacchanalian orgy scenarios that pop into my head. Luckily, some of the people that populate such lists cost me no more than the price of a travelcard or a short coach / train journey to see, and even some of the further-flung superstars, crushes and all-round top drawer fellows I seem to run into once a year, whether I�m passing through their neck of the woods or them through mine. But I do like the idea of having specially picked groups flown in at a day�s notice, scrubbed clean and festooned with togas, as much of whatever vicelike substances launch their torpedoes as they need, a jar of pureed monkey glands and well, insert your own mental picture of how the evening would progress and have fun with idea.

If anyone would like to loan me money for this specific purpose, please don�t be backward in coming forward.

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