My student days were largely lost. Not just the weekends either. I would occasionally even stir from my heavenly resting place after the latest in a series of parties of my life and realise I'd missed a nine o clock lecture. By a day and a half.
Well, this weekend was a touch different, although as I sit here trying to piece it all together it occurs to me that the glorious weekend must have involved more than just a couple of cheeky ones. We did some really cool bits and bobs though - so if you're interested, here are the headlines.
Saturday was a lazy morning with lunch from the local bakery/petrol station. This place is an institution, and I'm sure I'll bang on about it for years to come. Anyhow, given that the world (or at least the world that I'm familiar with) seems to be football obsessed, we decided that it might be time to just roll with it. We met up with a crowd at INVICTO - "Sports and Fun Restaurant" to watch events unfold. Pretty good boozy fun really - and our little man joined in where he could. As the afternoon progressed, his banter seemed more and more profound and sensible. Come to think of it I was concentrating so hard on the refreshing Bohemia, I must have forgotten to pay closer attention to the game. Still, I'm sure I can ask a few of the United fans I know to enlighten me.
Anyway - this bar was pretty trendy, and had one of the infamous 'consumption card' systems. Best get used to these. Its like a reverse debit card. You just collect one when you arrive and go as mental as you like. Everything you buy goes on the card. Three course meal, bottle of vodka, beers for everyone, you name it. All you have to do is pay it off and collect a ticket so you can leave. I've heard some pretty grim stories about what happens when these cards get lost. Still, not to worry, I can't imagine how anyone could be so daft - especially after 2 barrels of booze and a bag of chips (which cost a tenner, incidentally)
And so onto the lagoa for a lovely evening stroll ending at 'Bar Lagoa' - where apparently the waiters can be a bit arsey. This is a real Carioca institution - frequented by misty-eyed students, pensioners and novella stars alike. Our waiter was a top bloke - shame really, I was expecting the full-blown quasi Parisien snort. Never mind, I'm sure if we go again we could ask for someone a bit pissed off.
|Maybe if I kicked him in the knackers....|