Booze Britain?

The British like their drink… as this 'documentary' demonstrates:

The Holy Spirit

My French/Northern Irish friends know how to make me happy: a bottle of Chartreuse appears in the post just before I leave work. It's made by monks, you know. Insert your own jokes…

Oblivion beckons.

What a very exciting evening too!

Last night, Emma and I met at the German Market. While she scowled at my carnivorous ways, I purchased lots of meat products and some lebkuchen. We drank delicious mulled wine (especially the blueberry one) and fine schwarzbier, chatted to a stunningly self-centred young lady who thought that a recession is the perfect time to set up a company offering personal shopping and concierge services to footballers' wives and yummy mummys. She didn't intend to do any of the work, you understand - apparently the profits will be so huge that she can move to New Zealand and spend her time skiing while employees actually run the business. I shouldn't mock though - she has a degree in Forensic Science and her friend has one in Business Studies so she's sorted and I'm a cynical old lefty.

Then back to The Dark Place, where we met colleagues for a drink. This turned into a bit of a disaster - we ended up looking after and escorting home a distressed young lady who was clearly having a terrible time generally, and who had been abandoned by her boyfriend and friends: they denied knowing her as they left, though the bar staff told me a different story. Aren't people bastards? I was so emotionally overcome that I required pints of something called 'beer' to calm down again.

Outplayed and outgunned

Last night was a tale of bravery, tactics, guile and determination. In every area, we were completely outclassed. We must bow down to the master and accept that we will always be amateurs.

To what do I refer? To Ireland's loss in the Twenty20 (we've still qualified for the last eight though)? To England's victory over mighty Andorra?

Of course not. Last night we welcomed the external examiners to our august institution. Every subject has an academic from another institution to check that we're teaching well, marking properly, offering good courses - usually they're amazed by the amount of work we do and the quality (they teach 2-3 modules a year: I taught 11 this year, two of them double). Last night in the Hogshead was like a Staff Ball - the only people there without PhDs were the bar staff.

So what was this comprehensive defeat? It was the annual competition to persuade one of my colleagues (no names, to save his blushes) to buy us a drink. I have to admit that we failed utterly. At every stage we were outfoxed. He disappeared just as we entered the bar, and reappeared only when we were safely ensconced around a table, foamy pints overflowing. As we approached the critical stage of the next round, he disappeared for a second and reappeared with his own pint, despite our enthusiastic joshing about whose round it was (I eventually admitted defeat and made the trek to the bar).

By the crucial point of the third pint, we had pretty much accepted failure. Our tactics were reduced to leaving our now empty glasses on the table and staring at them silently. Once again, our foe managed to evade our clutches, spotting someone across the hostelry to whom he absolutely had to talk. He then left, victory assured for the seventh year running. Curses!

Needless to say, I'm not feeling entirely compos mentis this morning. Exhaustion and slight over-consumption of Ceres' bounty conspired against going swimming this morning. Despite this, I bonded with our externals over the twin joys of teaching and Stoke City.

My liver hurts

Voles are usually quite abstemious, but this week I went out for dinner on Sunday (Japanese in Brum, on my own), Thai on Monday (Henriette's last day working in the department), Vietnamese with my sister in Birmingham yesterday (skilled but jobless? Join VSO, for whom she codes), tonight's Laura's birthday drinks, tomorrow might just be free as Sarah's birthday drink is during the day while I'm doing a PGCE session, then there's another birthday surprise dinner for someone else on Friday. It's almost like I have a social life! Happy birthday too to Kate, who isn't in Wolves any longer (lucky git).