A tale of woe...

Tiredness is one thing. Fatigue is another. The feelings caused by genuine insomnia is another world completely.

So, lets break up this tension with some nonsense...

True story. When I was 18/19 my mate and I used to work in a nightclub. This rendered our Wednesday, Friday and Saturday nights as non free time. So we used to go out on pub crawls most Sundays. All good. Pubs were nice and quiet, we could chat and guarantee our time at a darts board or pool table. All good.

One Sunday close to xmas (and I remember it well) we decided, probably in an ironic sense, that we would go and see SpiceWorld: The Movie. Great. A couple of pints, a trip to Bath and a good ole heckle of a shit film.

Well. What happened was that we got to the train station and realised we'd just missed our train. No problem - we had plenty of time and could easily get the next. We decided (the begin of our downfall) that we would get a cheeky drink in then catch the next train.

First mistake. We overran our estimated drinking time (and this was back in  the day that we could both drink quickly) and, eventually, couldn't be arsed to go to Bath. Certainly not if the intended goal was SpiceWorld the effing Movie.

Anyhoo, much of the next few hours escapes me (for some reason) but I believe we ended up in The Crown during the Superbowl (I may be conflating this with another piss-up).

On our journey home we happened upon a local garden centre. Call it Hi-jinx, call it frivolity, call it theft (as the police suggested) but we found ourselves having very childish fun at the expense of said garden centre. I'm talking army rolls, shouting and generally being dicks.

We realised that we may not have been completely in the right when we saw annoyed neighbours who were clearly about to call the police. And so they did.

As inebriated as we were we had the presence of mind to understand our predicament. We ran. We ran and we ran and we ran. In hindsight it was about 200m.

We found ourselves in Trowbridge cricket ground hiding between the conifers. Hyped up and full of, well, beer. We stayed there and stayed there and stayed there. For so very long.

As it turns out it wasn't that long. The second we left the cricket ground we got picked up.

Spent the night in the cells banging on pipes as if we knew morse code. We were told to shut up or we'd be "moved to Swindon".

Anyhoo, no charges brought, walked out about 9ish in the morning. The most annoying part of the whole affair is that if we'd stayed in the cells for another hour we'd have got a full English breakfast.

Moral of the story? If you're gonna do something bad make it just bad enough to ensure you get breakfast. Or go to Wetherspoons.