Saturday

Up late to laze around watching a bit of telly before Green Lanes-ing it for the big shop. K is off for a haircut in Muswell Hill so I decide to do the same - even though my salon is my own kitchen, using clippers and a shaving mirror while watching 30 Rock with one eye. It works for me.

At 2.30, K heads out into town for Big Nick's birthday drinks at The Green Man, while Alex comes round to watch the FA Cup Final with me before I, too, go to The Green Man. The match kicks off at 3, and we, armed with a couple of cans, watch Chelsea hit the post an almost sarcastic number of times in the first half (Salomon Kalou with the miss of the season from six yards, while Didier Drogba actually slapped the post in frustration after tapping an effort onto the stick from no distance at all). In the second half, Pompey are awarded a penalty - which Kevin-Prince Boateng takes woefully and is denied a goal by the legs of Petr Cech. The deadlock is finally broken by Didier Drogba (who else, with his cup final scoring record!?) with a long-range freekick that, yes, hit the post on its way in.

After a nervy last few minutes the historic Chelsea double is complete - and it feels rather surreal, perhaps because, in playing Portsmouth for the second trophy, winning it never really felt in doubt. Either way, I watch JT and the rest lift the trophy and then hop on the tube to Oxford Circus.

The Green Man is relatively quiet when I arrive, but for the party of people I am there to join. Needless to say they're all completely hammered and I am long, long way behind. It's clearly the fault of the Green Man Special - a vicious little cider that seems to be about the most effective amnesiac available over the bar today. I am a little miffed and left out, and in my relatively sober state find it just that bit harder to listen to people's rambling stories, or laugh my head off at better-in-the-pub jokes.

I do my best to catch up though, and by 8.30 I've had a couple of Addlestone's and am quite happily chatting to a few dejected Pompey fans who've turned up outside. Unfortunately, K is rather the worse for wear - so I am required to bundle her onto a tube and take her home rather than stay out. It's fine, I reason - I'll just go out again after I've dropped her off. When we get back at 9.30 and K passes out, I suddenly can't be bothered to go out at all - especially when I notice that Die Hard is on ITV. Alex comes back round with pasties and scotch eggs (nice one) and we watch the rest of Die Hard, then Die Hard With a Vengeance, then the end of Breakfast Club. A slightly surreal end to a Saturday night at the pub, really.