The Archive

A bridge too far

Right, it’s Saturday night and we’re in Charleston. Surely a big night out is on the cards.

But wait… don’t forget that yesterday was Friday night in Savannah, and that’s going to take some getting over.

In fact we went for a wander around the historic district in Charleston and decided to just get something to eat.

Which itself turned out to be rather harder than one might have expected.

Because we had chosen today, of all days, which happened to be the day of the ‘Bridge Run’ in which literally Quadrillions of people swarm into the city to run over a bridge and then block book every restaurant in the city so that proper tourists can’t get anything to eat.

Bastards.


Thousands of fit idiots descend on Charleston intent on ruining our night

Eventually we managed to find a back-alley pizza joint where we all ordered giant pizzas and ate in sullen silence, realising that we barely had the energy to eat, let alone booze like maniacs and go off the reservation in Charleston.

Amazingly, after we finished and were on our way out, the chef came out to shake all of our hands and express his gratitude for being allowed to put cheese on top of dough for us.

We are that amazing. Apparently.

So consensus was it was time to give the drinking a miss for a night and go home. So we stopped off at a nearby hotel and asked the concierge to sort us out a cab.

Some minutes later our ‘cab;’ showed up.

In fact, it wasn’t really a cab. It was a bus. But not just a normal bus.

Imagine a stretch limousine, complete with full screen tv, interior carpeting, neon lighting and a bar. Now turn that into a bus and add a bit more ‘bling’ (or pimp your bus, if that helps).

That was the ride that took us back at the hotel.

Because that, my friends, is how we roll.

…roll right back into the hotel room for Battlestar Galactica and an early night, that is.

Never mind, we’d have another go at Charleston tomorrow.

CATCHPHRASE OF THE DAY: Do you remember Sir Ronald of Mental? Well Wig found himself watching a documentary about the gangs of Los Angeles. One in particular was led by a fruity character known only as Don Loco.

It was during this show that he realised that this must, in fact, have been Sir Ronald’s latin cousin…

“But your name. Think about your name.”
“My name. I am Don Loco. But wait, that means…”
“Yes sir. You are Sir Donald of Mental.”

Hence, Wig and I were said to have gone ‘Don and Ron’ in Savannah.

posted by Peter The Great @ 9:46 AM