hic

Saturday was completely, unashamedly given over to drinking. My best friend and I had planned a summer party and with the added excuse of the engagement, we were seriously thirsty. It was originally intended to be an outdoor party in the park, with champagne and scrabble and the like. But British weather being what it is (shitty) we decided to compromise and re-diverted our party to a riverside bar in Tower Bridge.

As a rule I'm not a fan of chain bars, especially the more pretentious ones. But if you're ever in need of a good bar in the centre of town, you could do a lot worse than head to All Bar One in Shad Thames. It's right on the river, and right behind Tower Bridge itself; the trick is to walk past the bridge and then shimmy up a tiny little alleyway evocatively called Maggie Blake's causeway. You will find yourself suddenly off the tourist trail and on the river, with a selection of bars and (overpriced) restaurants at your disposal.

It was at the point when the sambuca shots arrived that the end was nigh. Three rounds later, each more imaginative than the last (who on earth downs double measures of Martini Rossi? Us, apparently) and it was definitely time to call it a night, despite the pleas of three boy mates determined to find a karaoke bar and party on. Perhaps at another time I would have joined them and who knows what would have happened. But I'm glad I didn't. Even though MC had to drag me away from the Veuve Cliquot we had diligently carried home (a lovely gift from Confuddled) when we got in....