I jerk upright in my bed as my Sunday morning doze is cut short by the realisation that something incredibly embarrassing happened to me last night. Then I remember that the embarrassing thing happened to Johnny, not me, and I let my head fall back onto the pillow. A couple of, if not embarrassing, then definitely peculiar incidents did occur after I left you hanging, though, but it was getting late and I was too drunk and tired to continue narrating. So - where were we? After half an hour of walking in the pissing sleet, we finally made it onto Northumberland Street. Freddy gave up trying to drag Johnny after ten minutes and about 100 metres, at which point he bundled the little drunk into a taxi and they both sped off into the night. It was only when we were five paces away from the golden arches of MacDonald’s that Charlie remembered he had no money left. I’d squandered all mine buying tickets to the club we never saw the inside of, and - despite the fact that she clearly said she wanted a burger earlier, and the fact that she hadn’t bought a drink all night - Phoebe’s pockets were apparently empty, too.
