<This tale got the better of me, in much the same way (if you know the scene) that the instant pudding almost got the better of Woody Allen in the movie Sleeper. Anyhow, now that the story is victorious, here it is, split into (I hope) three parts. Still, I think I come out of this better than one or two of the actors.....>
I entered Adrian's on my hands and knees, for a multitude of reasons. Primarily, however, since it was Adrian's (and the usual rules of cause and effect work sideways) so starting a trip to the bar with a crawl should act as a pre-emptive strike on the effects of a visit. That and the fact that I'd had incredible difficulty avoiding the ducks---
THWACK.
As I came too, it dawned on me that Marc must have abandoned the moratorium on low flying. Unfortunately. It also occurred to me that my attempts to achieve retro-effect hangover prepayment had succeeded, but I was now paying interest on the forgotten headache component.
In a desperate attempt to exert my free-will, and get rid of the Shum house band that had just take up cranial residence, I decided against alcohol. No dice; the band had obviously seen This is Spinal Tap, and in revenge for my attempted self determinism and the consequential eviction notice, promptly turned their volume controls to eleventy.
"Marc," I croaked, "I need –"
"Fentiman's Mandarin and Seville Orange Jigger with ice. Twice over," he said passing the first of two highball glasses each holding a divinely coloured orange drink. I still can't get my head round the ordering perfection of Adrian's. Sure enough the Jigger hit exactly the right spot. Specifically, the Shum band's amplifiers. Which immediately shorted out.
"Ahhhhhh," I sighed, thankfully. Fortunately all the band's instruments were electric, and the amount of noise they make without amplification is very limited. Sadly, the same couldn't be said of their singer.
"Here. Knock Yourself Out." I looked up at Marc and the proffered drink, and quaffed it in one rather than decide if what he had said was a command or a case of antonomasia (a frequent delivery at Adrian's). Once again, the drink hit the spot. In this case it was the Shum's lead singer. Who was promptly knocked out.
"Thank you," said wholeheartedly as all I was left with was the Shum's musicians attempt at River Dance. Which, given they had chosen to wear MoonBoots, was not really a much of a problem – tending more towards a rather stiff mental massage.
"Well, you needed it. Wouldn't want you to be unable to enjoy tonight's entertainment. You've got to be able to say "I'm feelin' alright", or better yet sing it." And with that he giggled a little. Looking around I suddenly noticed the stage. And immediately remembered what was going to happen in two weeks time, and the stage made frightening sense.
<At this point, if you please, imagine the cheesy wavey line picture cut as we do a temporal cut. Failing that, just shake your head a bit. Thank you.>