Nice food, in a generic 'Pizza Express'y type way. Drank too much red wine, as it transpired that the only other people sharing the bottle were Dheya (who only wanted one glass), and Lorna (who didn't want to drink because she's on codeine for tooth-ache). Lorna, as is her wont, didn't actually eat anything either. Soon, however, she begins counseling, and after that, of course, will be fixed and normal.
Too crowded and too expensive, but better than you might expect. Nursed a beer to allow everyone else to catch up in terms of alcohol consumption.
'Park End' nightclub
Problems getting in. They have a dress-code(!), which was just the first of many resemblances to a fairly shit London club. Luckily I was wearing a shirt, and buttoning that up, lacing my boots (bah) and tucking them into my jeans presented a sufficiently acceptable picture of sartorial elegance. Duncan (Lorna's boyfriend) was generously allowed in despite wearing black trainers. £7.50 to get in, £1 per item cloakroom, average of about 3 quid for any sort of drink. Logical fallacy of assuming that a club with three dance floors is bound to play something likable on one of them proven painfully. 'Cheese', 'R&B/Soul' or 'Dance' were the options, but I was quite up for a bit of proper dance music. However, either my definition of 'proper dance' is woefully inaccurate, or they were alternating between shit pop and mindless, soulless sample-fests. Ended up with the rest in the 'cheese' room, which at least occasionally played stuff like 'Can't Get You Out Of My Head' by Kylie. And yes, that was the highlight. Harassed somewhat, encouraging me to change my velcro t-shirt slogan from 'Happy Birthday Vicky' (cheaper than a card) to 'Not Gay Actually', which seemed to do the trick. Dead handy, that t-shirt. Fortunately, the rest of the evening dissolves into alcohol...