Creative writing.

As I sat with in the Guildford "TGI Fridays", with the helium balloons that were tied to my wrists buoying cheerily above my head, I stared down at my "woowoo" (a cocktail, not a euphemism.. I call that my "yoohoo".)

My mind wandered, as often is the case after a couple of Slippery Nipples; have I reached the life's pinnacle?

A third balloon, attached to my spectacles, seemed to bob in agreement. It was baffed occasionally by the swiftly rotating ceiling fan, perilously close to ending it's short, yet high-flying life.

Such thoughts left my mind as quickly as they had entered, as a rather attractive waitress arrived with my burger, and gave me a look that said so much; there was I, sat at the edge of a large group of friends, three balloons attached to separate extremities, and the empty glasses of several woowoo's and the odd harvey wall-banger spread out in front of me.

It was a look of pity. My assortment of balloons sank slightly for a moment, but rose again as I began to eat, swaying slightly in the Americanised atmosphere.