Two million pints in 4 24 hour days

This year's bank holiday system is a generous minx make no mistake. These short working weeks, extra long weekends are the stuff that dreams are made of, if dreams could last for 96 hours. It'd be life affirming to have an actual 96 hour dream after we've got through them to get over them such is the relentless pace. Spring has sprung and everybody round our way is living their dreams out of a blue plastic carrier bag. Which on first evening is lovely but, by the time you crawl through to Sunday, one's body is screaming at you to avoid the pub. If at all possible...

The first one was massive - Falling asleep, falling asleep there, meeting weird, yet friendly men in cars, watching gigs in pubs so hot that you'd think your face would melt off, italo disco nights, then sobering up, eating Nando's and biking about in shorts. It wasn't long enough and meant that the three day working week seemed to go on forever. Shorter weeks are the right way forward...



In the face



Where the magic happens



Safety



Next level



The Severed Limb



Second breakfast



Morning



Brewser



Ginster PR hype



Pussy



A stout dragon



Bugs



Al fresco fry up - big scenes



Coco Disco down at the Alibi #dalston

Julio Bashmore Father Father

Fell in love with this Julio Bashmore tune the other week - it's been a soundtrack to sitting in the kitchen and talking total shit. Harped on about its charms for Resident Advisor. Check the link for verbose syophancy...

Julio Bashmore Father Father Resident Advisor Review

The wind of change

Change is in the air - it's spring and ting and progression is agwaning. There was a clear out of both personnel and objects in our gaff. This is the sort of shit which we found...



Croquette business



Sarah Mini-beenie



Old skool bin vibes



Fresh. to. death

Twit twoo?

Everyone has a competitive streak. It can be big or small and sometimes only emerges in the aisles of Tesco when you're fighting over the last tub of taramosalata. But competition and sporty business has been higher on the agenda of late than usual. This is cos the London marathon went off the other Sunday, which is definitely more of a competition than fighting to get your orders in at the bar. Although some boozers can be very busy. Props to the runners and ting. My sister and buddy both put themselves through it but I found it draining enough just watching it...

Perhaps more exciting than the run itself was the news that another competition was taking place alongside it. That's right. A painting of an owl was up for grabs. Not just any old owl but one painted by the father of a comrade who was raffling said bird off to raise money for his participation in the 26.5 mile endeavour.

The image of the owl provoked mass hysteria. There was a bidding frenzy with people throwing money into the pot and screaming: 'I got to get that bird'. Needless to say, the tickets I'd got were a crock of shit and didn't get us anywhere. But you can't deny the potency of that owl image. It's intoxicating...



A better, more responsible, younger sibling at the finish



Losing tickets - only 254 off