I have written about The Claw before. He is a friend of mine who broke several bones in his hand whilst on holiday a few years ago, and waited a month to see a doctor. He still can’t straighten all his fingers and is missing at least one knuckle.

Claw was my partner in crime for this years Bank Holiday Super Cider Sunday. Others came and went during the day, but it was The Claw and I that saw it through to the very bitter end.

The following morning, whilst feeling like I had spent the previous twenty-four hours eating sand, I received the following text message from a girl I went out with a few times last year.

“No need to apologise. Ur entertaining when ur drunk!”

Firstly, why is she happy to use words like apologise and entertaining, but not ‘you’re’? It does not make sense. Secondly, I am entertaining all of the time. There at 51 people on the Internet who think so, according to Bloglines.

Then it hits me. Apologise? Why am I apologising? What, exactly, did I do that required an apology?

I checked my sent messages, to find I had deleted all of them to save space on my mobile. Nokia, you are shit. How can a man be expected to keep track of all his embarrassing moments if your phones fill up when you send a couple of dozen drunken texts.

At work on Tuesday the emails flew in regarding the previous Sundays adventures.

“Did that fat girl in the pink velor tracksuit swap clothes with you? You were offering her £300 to do it when I left”

“Did you get thrown out for walking round the pub with your arse out like da kidz?

I remember none of it. Not one thing. I do have a very vague memory of a large girl in a bright tracksuit, but no more.

Anyone who says spending an entire day drinking Cider is a good idea is so very very wrong. I am just pleased that we only do it once a year.

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