This meant to be a decent restaurant. Classy interior, ritzy cutlery. Dignified waiters in fitting attires. Seemingly a great choice for a Christmas bash. Except for a steak that was a bit cold and Chivas Regal that felt slightly dodgy. Obviously that's the only reason I rather asked for a bottle. They didn't have one.
Sigh. Sigh. I had to settle for a bottle of Jameson. One litre of Jameson. With a little help from my friends, it was gone in two hours.
I recall neither singing vulgar folk songs nor asking the waiter to leave us fucking alone to enjoy the party. Had to switch on the autopilot on the way home.
Woke up somewhat hurt. Fucking autopilot! I crashlanded!
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