Skid Marks

A couple of years ago, a group of friends from here in Sydney all moved to London. While it was sad to see them go, and we all still trade stories about the insane drunken times we used to have together, I still appreciate the fact that I don't see how I'd have a job at this point if I still partied like I did back then.

Fortunately, they've generally continued living exactly the same way, which means there's always at least a trickle of stories that get passed back to us Down Under. Just a week or so ago, Mickey reported having woken up in bed one morning with the lights on, wearing his suit and shoes, and without a clue how or when he got home. On the plus side, someone pointed out, at least he was ready to go to work.

And then there was this instant message conversation this afternoon:

Juice: oh did you hear [franz] shit himself at a bar the other night

Zander: WHAT?!?!?!

Juice: yeah at the Village

Juice: flushed his undies and kept drinking

Zander: how does that even happen???

Juice: i don't know

Juice: he said it was close to the start of the night as well so he wasn't that drunk