Nothing special. We were watching the Spurs v Forest match live on ITV when Lee rang the doorbell.
Things quickly turned chaotic; Lee climbed up into the loft, Pete and Mo cavorted on their bed and Barry and Ade plugged in their guitars and demolished us with sound. Lee and I left, borrowing a screwdriver from the next-door neighbour (“Hope you’re not going to break in”), and proceeded to attempt to break into a boarded up and derelict pub on the Wickbourne Road.
We spent the evening at The Westdorgan up on Holmes Avenue. Stu turned up mid-evening, hair dyed black; he’s the same as ever. We rounded things off with a Chinese take-away and watched Bilko.
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