Friday

Today starts with a bang - or, more accurately, a banging headache. I feel atrocious, as well I deserve having rolled in to the house at 2.15am on a school night. Tsk tsk. Nevertheless I still have to go to work and I invoke me and Jess's patented Frankfurt Technique for coping with hangovers (e.g. not whining and pretending it's not there). My day improves though when Jess recommends somewhere to take K for dinner by the name of Byron, an apparently impressive chain of American burger restaurants, one of which is based on Upper Street. K seems up for the idea, so after work I get the tube to Highbury & Islington and walk down to Angel for the second time in a week.

It's a bit different this time, though, mainly because Upper Street is immensely busy on a Friday night, something that is easily forgotten during the week when it's relatively tame. On the way to Angel I meet K almost exactly outside the restaurant. It's relatively easy to miss, which is weird as the name is painted in massive letters across the front; though you can't see these when you're on the same side of the road. It looks like an old shop that's had the innards taken out, leaving exposed walls, flaking paint and bits of old tiling where we're sat upstairs. The waiting staff are mostly nerdy American kids, which is fun, and we order our bacon and cheese Byron burgers along with onion rings, fries and coleslaw - and a couple of beers, of course. The food goes down incredibly well and sees off the last of my hangover (funny that).

After the meal we get the bus up Holloway Road to the Big Red to meet Big Nick, Little Nick, Ant, Tim and Little Nick's extremely pregnant wife, Lucy, who sadly has to leave very shortly and drive to Andover. We only stop for the one pint - the boys have been in there for some time - and eventually get back on the bus and head to Crouch End and the comfortable, cosy Harringay Arms. It's what most people our age would refer to as an 'old man pub', but it's just a very friendly place with cheap beer and a grotty but servicable little smoking area. Unusually for me, especially given last night's excesses, I'm still up for another drink when chucking out time comes around - so we head round the corner to Kiss the Sky, a frankly rubbish little cocktail bar that has the sole redeeming feature of still being open.

We have one more pint and eventually K and I say our goodbyes and wander home. Neither of us are particularly drunk, I suppose because we filled up on grub before we started drinking, but we're both surprised that we're still up past 1am. Usually I'm moaning and dragging her home well before then, even on a Friday.