Every night's a Tuesday night

Nicola and I have had some wicked tuesday nights working in the restaurant as Maitre d's... and they just got better and better. When my parents were out we must have drunk at least a bottle of vino each, and as Nicola finds it hard to have a conversation after a few bevvys without using highly unnecessary and over the top hand gestures, it caused a whole glass of the devils juice to go down my red armour. That was one thing. Our last night in the restaurant proved a grande one. There is a male guest here on his own who has been refused acceptance by pretty much every other guest..probably because they are put off by the strong body odour and side burns. No no, Nicola didnt get it on with him...she decided to invite him to come and eat with us. As she brought him over she 'claimed' she had something to do which meant I was on my own for at least 10 painful minutes while she stood behind him smiling, pointing and generally all the restaurant staff were laughing at the hideous social situation that I was in. After a while she felt sorry enough to come and save me and we had long chats about aircraft control and politics. No lie. We had had at least a bottle each this time so the convo was needless to say, flowing. After we made our excuses we smuggled more wine out of the restaurant and escaped through a giant fridge on to the safety of the hotel drive. It was at this point that we thought it might be 'funny' to take down all the wind breaks from the tennis courts in a highly STEALTH (you understand yet Roz?) operation under the cover of darkness. After we had taken down 3 we thought it was more like hard work and retreated to farthing wood, wind breaks under our arms, and the evidence was shoved in my room. I woke up to a mass of green and a severely confused James (not in my room...eww!).