Fort Regent

What a night! Oh my word, I’m paying for it now. Still a bit drunk actually although feeling better since I cranked out 40mins@10mph on the treadmill. It’s too windy to run outside. I did drink a bit too much in the end but, hey, it’s a special occasion! Didn’t make a tit of myself and that’s the important thing. Sure there were few incidents during the night but nothing too bad. Worst up were the fucking dicks from Waitrose but we expected that. Jesus Christ, what dicks they are! You should have seen them, drinking champagne like it was wine. They also drank Peronis. Luckily we weren’t on a table with them as we were near the back. Not right at the back with the mongos, but near the back. The awards ceremony was held in the Rotunda at Fort Regent.

Fort Regent is an absolutely marvellous place though, it’s this big thing that sits on the hill overlooking the capital of Jersey, St Helier. It was once a proper fort but then they put this big mental metal roof on it and when I was small it was a proper amusement park. Alas, over the years, all the amusements closed down and now it’s just this big thing that looks like the Sydney Opera House crossed with a Nazi death camp.

There used to be cable cars that went up to it, big swimming pools – absolutely everything you needed for a fun day out. There was this darkened tunnel you walked through and a shark popped out of the wall and one of those shooting galleries that looked like a saloon from the Wild West, and of course game arcades. Now it’s filled with a real gymnasium, Carol’s jungle gym and despair. Hardly anybody works up there now so you can just wander around and nobody stops you. Anyway, the round bit in the middle is called the Rotunda, it’s a big round hall. That’s where the awards were held.

We all met up in my garage to get a buzz on before going. I drank some gin but not too much because it makes me angry. Enrique took his heroin, Paula had some WKDs and Marcel…

Well, when Marcel produced a paper bag and held it to his face I assumed he was sniffing glue and I told him a cautionary tale about a guy who I’d heard of who used to sniff glue from a bag. The bag had stuck to his face and he passed out. He kept waking and then passing out for days on end, unable to remove the bag. I didn’t know the outcome to that story or if it was true but I felt it was still quiet effective. It was Paula who laughed and told me he was just trying avoid an anxiety attack. I laughed too and so did Enrique and finally so did Marcel. Then Marcel said that actually he was sniffing glue. He laughed and then I laughed and then Enrique laughed and finally Paula laughed. Then we all stopped laughing and I asked Marcel what was really the deal with the bag and he said, looking delighted and nodding, “glue!” He held it open for inspection. We all laughed again and then our taxi arrived – courtesy of Spar.

“Let’s did it!” Said Enrique patting his pockets to ensure he had everything.

“That’s not it! You idiot!” I laughed as we headed out. “It’s…” But I could not for the life of me think of the simple three word phrase, let’s do it! For the first half of the taxi ride I was concerned I’d had some kind of mini stroke.

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