They really ought to make indicators that tell you when you've drunk enough to be happy yet not get totally wasted.
You can never really tell. It's like you think you're still in the clear and the next thing you know, you wake up feeling like death. It's like you're okay until you're not. Bah.
Was fun though.
The night began with the guzzling of giant bottles of beer at the coffeeshop opposite Home, where at the same time, we were treated to a mini show of sorts. dfe made a harmonica-playing friend, while some dodgy guys came over and introduced themselves, much to my chagrin. They did this twice, and on their second trip, one guy held his phone in front of me, asking if he could have my number. I said "no, sorry", and without skipping a beat, he turned to Ci'en and asked if he could have hers instead. Smoooth.
She suggested I adopt a fake, chichi name (such as one in the fashion of a designer label) the next time random weirdos ask me for mine. So if you ever meet me, and I introduce myself as Prada, just start backing away and nobody gets hurt.