Hangover status: dry, earnest, talkative, starving
Friday afternoon my friend Kate and I inter-rail to the picturesque Lancashire village of Adlington to visit our dear friends Ange and Chris who have fashioned a tiny new person named Evan Douglas Jones. He is a mere 8 weeks old and I cannot wait to meet him. My intention is to challenge him to an arm-wrestle then play him the entire Smiths back catalogue. I know babies.
In the flesh he is absolutely adorable. During her pregnancy Ange and I discussed the worries of producing a monkey/alien/potato baby, which can happen no matter how beautiful the parents are. Evan fortunately is a two month old movie star with beautiful big blue eyes, soft downy hair, dapper Hawaiian outfit from Gap Kids and the sweetest, affable demeanour to boot. I am of course smitten. We lunch at Thyme Café in Horwich, a plush village on the Lancs/Mancs border where my train usually stops en route to Blackpool but which I‘ve never actually visited before. I am impressed. Evan makes not a peep as we scoff deli sandwiches, catch up on gossip and have a good old laugh.
Back in the city we hook up with after work drinkers in Odder: Emma, Adam, Kim, Laure, Ioannis, Tony, Eunice, Greg. Ben and Katy are also in attendance, warming up for their forthcoming hen and stag do’s. Hen on the Saturday, Stag on the Sunday, both of which I will be attending (and they are marrying one another, just to clarify). I am dosing myself up with green tea and milk thistle in preparation for the punishing weekend and am very excited about it. Tonight though I drink just enough St George’s bitter to take the edge off my hangover then head to see Neil and the Pugling in Levenshulme where we watch Family Guy and American Dad, both of which I’m beginning to love but can’t yet pick a favourite. Takeaway and sleeeep.