The Flowers of the Forest, SE1, London

We had dinner at a fantastic Italian place (notes on La Dolce Vita in the wine review at the end of the month) and I fancied a bit of whiskey for a night-cap (thinking: “must go to Marathon start hungover…”).  Just off the roundabout we spotted the Flowers of the Forest and wandered into the crowded room with wooden floors and minimal furniture. Three guys were hugging, either affectionately or on the verge of fisticuffs or both but, regardless, very VERY drunk.  Most of the rest of the crowd seemed to be holding it together but were all seated safely away from these guys and close to the door.

We sat not far away, on the other hand, in the name of science or observation or because we just don’t know any better.  One of the guys sat abruptly on the ground and one of the others started dragging him away by his feet.  The guy with the bad case of refrigerator repairman trousers bent down to help but then started wrestling the upright guy on the pool table.  No one else seemed to take any notice.

The kid on the ground arose with some effort and looked like he was going to puke.  The bartender set up another round (I think it was the kid’s shout) and they all said, “hooray,” in a very non-committal and vaguely humanoid manner.  The kid then wandered outside to, I reckon, poop in his pants and sleep in a pool of his or anyone else’s vomit; we made a note to turn him face down but didn’t see him when we left.

I am fairly certain that I was not as hungover as these guys the next morning.