I decided to watch the Champions League final with my brother in our local(which is ironically nowhere near where we live but we know all the staff and customers so it may as well be local). I woke up on Thursday morning with only the fondest memories. I recalled a genuinely serine uneventful night, we had a few pints watched the match, hung out with the lonely Columbian and went home(bar one unfortunate incident involving the bro, an angry taxi driver and a 100e fine).
Needless to say, this recollection of events is completely inaccurate! What really happened was far from peaceful. Firstly, we squeezed in 2 pints a half for the game and extra time and (amazingly) penalties. Then, swept up in the furore of a united win, we went to the bar-on a mission. Apparently we stood at the bar for about 15 minutes and had somewhere between 5 and 10 shots of tequila each. Then we started beating the shit into one another* before stumbling into the street and nearly getting hit by a bus. Concerned bar staff dragged us back in where we had some more to drink before falling asleep upstairs, me lying flat on my back with my mouth wide open and him face flat buried in a table(apparently, there are pictures). We were then rudely awakened and told to go home at about 2am-another classic family outing.
*as we’re both emotionally paralysed this is about an expressive a form of affection we can muster. It happens with shocking regularity but is always done with a smile(no really, it is)
