"What's your name again?"

FRIDAY

It was always going to result in a blog post of complete filth and debauchery. A visit to Edinburgh to see The Blonde, The Geordie, Grumpyscot and to introduce them to The Punk. Two birthdays, multiple pubs, some swearing, laughing 'til we're almost sick, and quite a bit of falling over on The Blonde's part.

Punk and I excitedly got ready for the trip, of course going via the Italian deli to pick up some posh ham for The Blonde. She loves ham. The journey up was fairly uneventful, except me hand-drawing a gin label for The Blonde's birthday present, and Punk managing to snag his own beard with the scissors we used for wrapping presents. (He shouldn't be allowed near sharp stuff.) At York some unbearably posh students got on the train, shouting loudly.

"Ya, ya, sorority girl, ya, the countryside gets nice after Newcastle." I was getting quietly pissed off until one of the posh twats got their iPad out and proceeded to watch the final episode of Sherlock in my eyeline. The sight of Benedict Cumberbatch pacified my rage.

On the journey a conversation took place on Twitter between @StyleCouncillor, @Ginodb, me and The Blonde - they set us a photo challenge which basically involved us making tits of ourselves in public. We are more than capable of this by ourselves.

Arriving at The Blonde's, we had a tour of the flat and decided to have 'a couple of drinks' before we headed down the local to meet everyone else. The Geordie shouted, "Gin me, bitchface!" to The Blonde and she happily obliged. I'm pretty sure this is how they talk to each other all the time. The Blonde exclaimed that she was pacing herself and saving herself for the big birthday bash tomorrow, so she only had five gins and a glass of wine pre-pub.

At the local, we met The Grumpyscot, The Yangs and some other Edinburgh friends-of-friends. The Blonde was, by this point, being quite er, direct. She addressed an unfamiliar girl.

"What's your name?"

"Jo."

"How do you know The Grumpyscot?"

"Oh you know, just from the pubs really."

"But you seem... so.... normal."

*nervous laughter*

"What'sh your name?"

"Jo...."

We all look at each other, wondering if it's time to take The Blonde home.

"So how do you know people?"

"Um, from the pubs - I've met The Grumpyscot and The Geordie one big weekend when we were all out on the piss."

Thunder flashed across The Blonde's face at the name-drop of her husband.

"SO - who would you say you know better? The Grumpyscot - or The Geordie?"

Confusion reigned over the table.

"Umm....." The poor girl wasn't sure what to say, but before she could think of the least provocative answer, The Blonde butted in again.

"What'sh your name?"

At this point we made our excuses and left. Once home, around 8pm, we decided ordering pizza was a great idea. The Blonde had other ideas, and refused to take a break from dancing wildly with a glass of wine in her hand and singing Erasure's Respect repeatedly. At one point, her and The Punk did an interpretive modern dance routine to a track, none of us can recall what song it was, but I do recall The Punk crying out about his knees hurting, and The Blonde shouting, "Look! I'm 'birthing' you! This is so powerful." Shortly before toppling over. She disappeared off for a bit, then Geordie comes back in to the lounge, with a photograph of her in the exact same position as she was found in the weekend before - sprawled between the bathroom and the hallway, asleep. He dragged her on her back through the flat to put her to bed.

"Geordie, I feel a bit sick..." she moaned. At that point, the Punk wandered past in his bedtime clothes.

"OOOH, you look SEXY in a vest!..... urgh I think I might vom again."

I decide to call it a night, but was apparently found about twenty minutes later falling asleep on the sofa in the dressing room, using a pile of coathangers as a pillow, mumbling about being 'so comfy'.

It was about 10pm.