one drink for the price of four

Am crabby today, and why should I suffer in silence when I can share it with you instead? Am surrounded by coughing, sickly people who feel the right thing to do when germ-ridden is to come to work and share the wealth. Stay the fuck at home! I don’t want to hear you hacking like a frigging Alsatian!

Ahem. In other interesting news, yesterday was mine and Steve’s anniversary. A drink was had at the American Bar at the Savoy, which I expected to be far nicer than it actually was. The bar was pretty, but the furnishings were similar to those you’d find on a P&O ferry, and the carpet was a migraineous swirl of navy and bright yellow. Also, turn down the lights! Everything and everyone (including me and my beloved) looks better in dim, sexy, conducive-to-drunken-flirtations lighting. As the drinks cost £11.50 each, we couldn’t afford more than one. Free bar snacks (olives, salted nuts and delicious, meltingly oily crisps) lessened the blow a bit. But really not that much.

It’s a sad fact that I complain about almost everything. Oh, the American Bar wasn’t as nice as the Green Mill, the hotel on NYE was mean and made us stay in their basement, and that rotten Toyota Corolla ad makes me never want to buy a car. Here’s where to complain about it . Unless you like seeing fat women being ridiculed and men being reduced to car-loving, shallow stereotypes.