The Kingston Three +1

As some, few or none of you may be aware, last... Saturday... 5th.. February (Phew, this date thing takes a bit of getting used to) the Kingston Three (Andy, Briggsy & Moi) ventured out intrepidly into the hallowed drinking emporiums of "our patch" and proceeded to put the world to rights whilst attempting to drain the locals supply of liquor.

This time, however, was different as we now had a fourth member. He was D'Artagnan to our... other three. He emerged like a spectre through the mists of the dank alleys of the town. Although in truth he lurched precariously through the pub doorway once the doorman had verified that he knew Andy (?!).

We drank merrily and often, and did what you're supposed to do during all social gatherings, text each other from the toilet asking if we were talking about them yet. At a later hour than originally planned it was deemed appropriate to shake our bad asses at our club of choice.

We proceeded there, via the strategically positioned Chicken Shop opposite. Some in our number opted out (Phil), whilst others attempted the Dallas Chicken record of 6 hot wings (Andy- who then proceeded to cry like an onion chopping vegetable lover) and then finally we get to those who; already knowing they are also thirsty decided to plump for the "so much more refreshing than a drink" tub of coleslaw (Briggsy).

After suitably cleansing ourselves with the disturbingly named cleanup tissue we approached the Q. One in our number was recognised as a disfigured local worker and we were immediately thrust into the bowels of the club (after checking our coats, obviously).

Again a bee-line was made straight to the "r'n'b and other music like that" room as so many of us affectionately call it. Where we proceeded to let all hell break loose (or dance). Phil initially stood by the bar monitoring our confused shuffling from a distance, like the care in the community we appeared to be. Until later he joined us on the littered wooden tiles where he continued to observe with concern.

Andy began his well recognised display of dancing prowess much like a Peacock in full mating ritual. Briggsy descended into her own 'zone' as her head dipped and eyes rolled back. I began a mix of the two whilst also attempting to keep my new shoes clean by kicking away every single item of rubbish on the dance floor. The podium dancers provided light relief as we attempted to emulate their super-stardom. Until the moment one of them leapt into the air and did the splits across the podiums hand rails. I immediately feigned injury and escaped a torn pride.

All too soon the lights came up (except for Phil, who had been attempting to leave since the previous hour!) and we made our way to the coat Q. I unwisely tried to joke with the woman returning my jacket when she enquired "Initials?" I replied "Who's asking?" Oh how... only I laughed.

We were then heralded home in Jim's motor vehicle (which Andy fondly described as an LOS due to the transitional phase the vehicle is in). All the way home, Briggsy lounged across the back seats pleading "Can I drive? Can I have a go? Can I drive? I'm not that drunk!

Again a success. Again a lot of fun. Again?