If Songs Were Lines In A Conversation, The Situation Would Be Fine

Part the first... events on a stag night.

Things you least expect to see, having staggered into the night on a cold Saturday Morn...
Naked Rickshaw Man!




I think he's getting some cash out.



The only sensible response?

Pure Tomfoolery!

So, you must have gathered there's not a great deal of medical drama in this post... It was one of The Shroom's good friend's stag do this weekend. The groom to be had initially been reluctant to engage in anything too elaborate. Of course we ignored him. Dinner and drinks on Friday night, followed by hangovers and shooting on Saturday morning. Most of us had to have a siesta after that, which is frankly shameful. The ravages of age and whatnot. Then, dinner and gambling down at the Dogtrack... I think everyone but the Shroom and the Best Man won at least once. The Shroom had the knack of picking the dog that came in second, but not the sense to bet on them to place.

The Bottle of Shattered Dreams

(---losing tickets to the rest of you)

Despite his reservations, I think the Boy had a good time; and he won the shooting... despite us having a bone-fide Army man among us. (But he would want me to remind you that he deals mostly in area effect munitions.

Having exhausted our minds and bodies on the fields and dancefloors of the city of dreaming spires, we returned to our Hotel, to find it in full swing. Some company was having a function there, and I have rarely seen so many drunk people liberally scattered about a building - not since Med School anyway.

A special mention must go to the naked man I saw roaming to corridors at 0330hrs pleading desperately for a condom - "for the love of God, someone must have a rubber?!?"

I really felt for him...