Rode hard and put away wet

Ok ok, before you get your dirty little mind spinning about the headline I'll cut you off and explain.
The expression is something cowboys use to describe a long hard day, or in my case, a long hard weekend.
On Friday we went playing pool and at the pool hall there was a mariachi band playing 2 tables down and I'm sure people in Mexico heard them. It was at least, AT LEAST 35 degrees celsius (95 Fahrenheit or so) in the hall which of course ment we had to down Pacificos. I'm leaving the number of bottles out, but we walked out of there, me victorious of course with some room left for Margaritas. Enough said.....

Saturday was slow in the afternoon, i.e slept until noon. After breakfast I had the hair of the dog that bit me and before you knew it, life was a whole lot better.
After dinner at Pattis where Alex (a mate from the Hostel) joined it was off to Santa Monica and what transpired I can only describe as one of the weirdest nights of my life.

Sunday and I just couldn't get rid of that damn hair so we hit a boardwalk bar for breakfast. That is if you with a straight face can call beer and an Italian sausage pizza breakfast.

Now it's Sunday evening and I'm a bit tired and a bit tipsy. I have to say that I miss my travel partner a bit, but the beach, the sun and a few beers is a decent substitute.
I also started "I wish"-ing. I.e, wishing that my company for the day was someone else. I know it's a waste of time, but hey, I have time in abundance so I let myself slip into that kind of thinking for a little bit. Ta-daaaa - I'm back!

Tomorrow I think we're hitting Manchester. I have no illusion that I'm going to top my last round, but like the saying goes:
A bad day at the course still beats a good day at the office.

Words to live by.