Papers. PAPERS! Read all about the news.

Papers. PAPERS! Read all about the news.

A mention in the Daily Mail. I don’t know whether to feel pleased at getting the NOTA/Protest Vote movement its first national newspaper coverage or to feel dirty.

Slightly more worrying is that I’m approaching 40 and still acting the arse on occasion. I feel I should make greater efforts to grow up. Not that I haven’t made massive progress over the last decade. Once upon a time, random acts of drunken idiocy were my norm, whereas I’m now a sober, boring, respectable(ish), cardigan-wearing dad 99% of the time.

10 thoughts on “Papers. PAPERS! Read all about the news.

  1. I had a pint of Cumberland yesterday afternoon in that London. Very potable. I'm OK for beer at the moment, having cleared my local Lidl out of Pedigree at £1 a bottle last week.

  2. If the world's greatest newspaper wishes to chronicle my real ale consumption as a matter of public interest, let it. I don't mind if the Mail keeps tabs as well. And then I got off the bus. I'm here all week. Tip your waitress and try the veal.

  3. At least the Eye has an offline archive so they'll never find the story I remember reading of a Louis Barfe leaving a very good (Oldie?) dinner only to fall asleep on the Tube and ride the system endlessly like the Flying Dutchman of the Circle Line. Oh.

  4. It was the District line, and I woke up in Barking. The story was quoted in full in Gordon Inkster's much-missed Lancaster bulletin InkyText.

    "Who says hacks don't drink any more? At the recent Oldie of the Year awards, Publishing News writer Louis Barfe set a fine example after encountering the awards' overall winner in the gents.
    "I've just stood next to Peter O'Toole," he exclaimed to the unimpressed crowd at the bar.
    Barfe was so excited he then proceeded to enjoy his "Lunch" until 7pm before spending the evening asleep, travelling back and forth on the District Line.
    He woke up at 11pm in Barking, more than a little confused."

    It's not, however, as good as the time after an office party when I slept the length of the Central line 3 times and woke up in West Ruislip on the last train. A good samaritan took me home, gave me a bacon sandwich, put me up in his spare room and tried to marry me off to one of his (frankly stunning) daughters. Please, no sore arse jokes. I had the fortune to bump into a genuinely kind person.

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