Mr Cat Dog
Frasier says it best
- 11,344
- Posts
- 20
- Years
- Age 33
- London, UK
- Seen Sep 29, 2017
Somewhere hidden in this blog entry is a photograph of the real Platform 9 3/4 at King's Cross train station, from the Harry Potter franchise. You're going to have to read on to find it, though!
Most of these meet-ups have had a degree of preparation involved in their organisation and logistics. Even down to the first one that started this whole quirk of mine off... despite the planning being unintentional, for the most part. Indeed, most of the time, there's been about a month's worth of preparation between pitching the idea and the eventual meet up. That's certainly the case for the next-and-probably-final proposed one to come.
This time around? Two days. Say hi to Vendak, everyone:
And yes, the shots where I'm partially in the frame are obviously making a comeback. But before anyone asks: no, he's not coming back to PC, unfortunately. He's gone gone gone and moved on from this place. Still, that didn't diminish what turned out to be a very satisfying day. (On the plus side, at least you don't have to read 4 differing accounts of the same event... like last time! :D)
We settled in this afternoon to watch the cult-film Withnail and I; me, for the first time and he, for the billionth. As the film progressed, he kept offering me an array of complimentary beverages: Coca-Cola, Assam tea, water... before the only drink left turned out to be bottles of Stella Artois, of which he'd already drunk 5 of by 4pm. Being a polite guest in his home, I felt obliged to drink it, only to realise after two sips that Stella Artois must be some secret anagram of 'Cat Urine' that linguists haven't discovered as of yet. I later learned that this was all part of a dastardly plan conceived by Razor Leaf in order to get me mortally drunk. Sorry guys, you're going to have to do better than that in the future!
That being said, in true Withnailian fashion, we went to the pub as soon as the film finished. While there, he proceeded to mock my ever-fluctuating accent profusely (sometimes it was American! sometimes it was Irish! sometimes it was ridiculously posh English!) and I proceeded to make him laugh over the tiniest of things. A fact which I attributed to him now having imbibed 8 bottles of Cat Urine and 2 pints of something called a Spitfire. It did taste like what I imagine plane fuel tastes like, so maybe the name is apt...(*)
From there, we went back to the house, upon which I was treated to a slap-up veggie pasta bake worthy of Jamie Oliver. Jamie Oliver probably wouldn't burn his finger on the cooker, like Vendak did, however. Nor would he break two lightbulbs in his bedroom by showing off his mad guitar skills, like Vendak did. Nor would be burn another finger by trying to unscrew one of the ridiculously hot broken lightbulbs, like Vendak did. He might have some crazy-ass dance moves to Elvis Presley... like Vendak did. But I don't really know. Unfortunately, I've never met Jamie Oliver.
The aforementioned Elvis dancing proved to be a delightful capper to a lovely day. Before getting a Cat Dog hug from me as my train came in, Vendak wanted another photo of himself and, in true hipster fashion, here's how it turned out:
You're welcome, PC. You're welcome.
(*) For those thinking I'm being too judgmental about poor Vendak's drinking habits, I did have a gin and tonic as well as a whisky and Coke at the pub. I just hate beer and ale so much, you guys. So, so much. And wine, for that matter. Ugh...
Most of these meet-ups have had a degree of preparation involved in their organisation and logistics. Even down to the first one that started this whole quirk of mine off... despite the planning being unintentional, for the most part. Indeed, most of the time, there's been about a month's worth of preparation between pitching the idea and the eventual meet up. That's certainly the case for the next-and-probably-final proposed one to come.
This time around? Two days. Say hi to Vendak, everyone:
Spoiler:
And yes, the shots where I'm partially in the frame are obviously making a comeback. But before anyone asks: no, he's not coming back to PC, unfortunately. He's gone gone gone and moved on from this place. Still, that didn't diminish what turned out to be a very satisfying day. (On the plus side, at least you don't have to read 4 differing accounts of the same event... like last time! :D)
We settled in this afternoon to watch the cult-film Withnail and I; me, for the first time and he, for the billionth. As the film progressed, he kept offering me an array of complimentary beverages: Coca-Cola, Assam tea, water... before the only drink left turned out to be bottles of Stella Artois, of which he'd already drunk 5 of by 4pm. Being a polite guest in his home, I felt obliged to drink it, only to realise after two sips that Stella Artois must be some secret anagram of 'Cat Urine' that linguists haven't discovered as of yet. I later learned that this was all part of a dastardly plan conceived by Razor Leaf in order to get me mortally drunk. Sorry guys, you're going to have to do better than that in the future!
That being said, in true Withnailian fashion, we went to the pub as soon as the film finished. While there, he proceeded to mock my ever-fluctuating accent profusely (sometimes it was American! sometimes it was Irish! sometimes it was ridiculously posh English!) and I proceeded to make him laugh over the tiniest of things. A fact which I attributed to him now having imbibed 8 bottles of Cat Urine and 2 pints of something called a Spitfire. It did taste like what I imagine plane fuel tastes like, so maybe the name is apt...(*)
From there, we went back to the house, upon which I was treated to a slap-up veggie pasta bake worthy of Jamie Oliver. Jamie Oliver probably wouldn't burn his finger on the cooker, like Vendak did, however. Nor would he break two lightbulbs in his bedroom by showing off his mad guitar skills, like Vendak did. Nor would be burn another finger by trying to unscrew one of the ridiculously hot broken lightbulbs, like Vendak did. He might have some crazy-ass dance moves to Elvis Presley... like Vendak did. But I don't really know. Unfortunately, I've never met Jamie Oliver.
The aforementioned Elvis dancing proved to be a delightful capper to a lovely day. Before getting a Cat Dog hug from me as my train came in, Vendak wanted another photo of himself and, in true hipster fashion, here's how it turned out:
Spoiler:
You're welcome, PC. You're welcome.
(*) For those thinking I'm being too judgmental about poor Vendak's drinking habits, I did have a gin and tonic as well as a whisky and Coke at the pub. I just hate beer and ale so much, you guys. So, so much. And wine, for that matter. Ugh...
