The first stop last night was the pub, where I played darts and won a great many games of 301. I shouldn't have, since I wasn't playing all that well, but I was hitting my outs just fine, which is what counts. It was almost a relief when Elvis finally beat me-- I was dying to sit down at that point.

Pooka Boy was there. He got a new necklace-- some sort of large silver medallion on a black leather thong-- and a flashy new beaded bracelet. Very spiffy. Our daughter was there as well.

You didn't know we had a daughter? Neither did we, until last week when a precocious (and obnoxious) child visiting some of our friends, suggested Elvis was her father. Which would make Elvis pretty darn precocious himself, and me more so. It's not every 9 year old who's able to give birth. Everybody found the idea to be hysterically funny, so we seem to be stuck with her. We're all certainly getting a lot of mileage out of it, especially with people who aren't in on the joke. "You! Keep your hands off my daughter," I said to one guy, who goggled at me for a bit before saying, "But, you can't possibly be. . . Can you?"

Uh, no. I'm not, and I couldn't be.

This annoyed the daughter, since I suspect she was hoping for a bit more hands on in that particular instance. Then again, maybe not. She can be pretty annoying herself, especially when she whines "Daddy, buy me a vodka" or "Daddy, he's bothering me" at full volume. Elvis' response usually runs along the lines of "Stupid tart, you've got to grow up some time", which startled more than one tourist passing our part of the pub on the way to the toilets. I can just see them returning to their table: "Honey, you wouldn't believe the appalling family sitting over there at the bar!" Very funny.

We went to the Irish pub, and made it there just in time for last call. We missed the music, but we didn't really care at that point. Joe had left us earlier to meet a friend there, who we duly met and is now a friend of ours as well. I like her a lot, actually. We're both children of the 70s and teens of the early 80s, and we have similar tastes. I'll have to ask her if she remembers the Hardy Boys. Probably not, since she's a Brit and I doubt they made it over there. Then again, I'm constantly surprised at what US TV shows were shown in Britain (hint: not very good ones), so you never know.

After that, we all trouped up the hill to the Late Night Bar of Evil. Still no Mr. Evil, but Mr. Evil-Wanabe didn't muck it up too bad, and we ended up having a lot of fun. Much dancing. Much singing. Much drinking. Somewhere in there, we all got invited to a party. There was quite a crowd last night, which was nice.

I'm pretty sure the Late Night Bar of Evil was closing as we left. The party was held at the lovely home of a Spanish woman that we had never met before, so it was nice of her to ask us along. She's very nice herself, and I enjoyed talking to her. I hope we'll see her again, although if she's going to be hanging out at the LNBOE, we probably will. Our new friend (who will need a name-- I'll have to think about it), seemed to be making progress with a Cute Guy she was interested in. I have a feeling that Miss Kitty may be gone, but the Cute Guys will linger on. When Elvis and I left with Joe and the daughter, she was still talking to him. She was worried that Joe might be interested in her and have his feelings hurt, but he wasn't and they weren't, so it's all good.

Like yesterday, we haven't done anything much today, even though the weather is beautiful. The heat wave is gone, by the way, so hurrah for that. Elvis is enjoying it, in a somewhat limited fashion, by taking his laptop out on the balcony and playing his newest obsession. He's been playing this online game for a week now. I'm pretty sure that's all he did yesterday as well. He found it whilst googling for Gary Coleman, when he was clicked on a link offering him the opportunity to make Gary Coleman his personal slave. He tried to describe the game to us last night, amongst much hilarity. The daughter does not approve, because slavery is wrong, even though it's just a game, and a silly one at that. She didn't think much of Elvis having Willow seduce lesbian slaves into his service, either. Apparently, you can spank your slaves (or have them spank you), so she's started calling Elvis "Slave Spanker".