Jonola14

WHAT A WEEKEND

Uxbridge was the destination and transportation was via the use of the night bus from Ealing Broadway. The assumed 20 minute journey lasted a good 45, but Mark R and I whiled away the minutes trying to decipher the distinctly odd flashing decorations of Southall, including what looked like a flying chilli pepper but was obviously some sort of dark religious symbol.

Anyway, we arrived, we sat down, we took our coats off and we began drinking ‘Nelsons’ - cockney rhyming slang for Stella (Nelson Mandela).

Eventually the time came for us to venture into the temptations of ‘Royale’s’ night club where we encountered many a toothless bint and sunk further Nelsons in an attempt to make them even mildly attractive.

After briefly making friends with Tracey, Stacey and Katie, we stumbled off to the dancefloor where the synchronized dancing was never even given a second glance, unusually.

The time came to leave, so we swaggered towards the cloakroom where I attempted to reclaim my jacket with the use of a Kodak photo slip. We kebabed up and got back on the night bus.

We were awoken by a strange man tapping us on the shoulder, telling us that we had arrived and to get off the bus. ‘Splendid’, we thought, and descended accordingly, only to find that we had, in fact, reached the end of the line to discover the delights of Tottenham Court Road.

Eventually we located the return bus to Ealing and vehemently vowed to stay awake so as not to end up back in Uxbridge. Fairly soon after that we were both asleep again but managed to get off the bus at the right stop. We trudged past a murder scene, complete with forensic scientist gathering data, and stumbled home. Time of return? 5 am. Marvellous.