"Can't talk - dancing."

Got home this morning at 3:30am after a big day out on the gas (that's Aussie slang for a massive day of drinking for those of you wondering whether I have some sort of flatulence problem). Went to the Belgian Beer Cafe (www.belgianbeercafemelbourne.com) on St Kilda Rd for my friends Nath and Ursula's going away party (they're moving to sunny old England in just over a week). Had a fun day - the weather stayed mercifully shy of the 45 degree/113 Fahrenheit weather we've been having the previous few days, and the beer flowed freely...well, expensively actually...into my glass and then from there into my belly at a rapid pace.

Not surprisingly, I was unwilling to go home at midnight when most others decided to call it quits, so Shotty (co-house-owner, ridiculously good-looking), Shannyn (old friend from the country, very attractive ankles) and I ventured up the road to Federation Square, and wandered in to Transport (www.transporthotel.com.au). Whilst at Transport I seem to recall drinking copious amounts of alcohol but not actually paying for any (my bad) and performing some Justin-Timberlake-esque moves on the ridiculously small dance floor. After a few hours, Shotty and Shannyn went their separate ways, and although I was left alone, I decided to stick it out. I fully intended to stay there until the place closed at 3am, but the bouncers found my dance moves a little too funky for their liking, and decided I needed to be shown the exit at about 2:30. One of them approached me on the floor and the conversation went like this:

Bouncer: "You look like you've had way too much to drink mate"
Me: "Can't talk - dancing."
Bouncer: "Ok, you're out of here."

All I wanted to hear was:

Bouncer: "I don't like you, but I respect your moves."

Obviously he didn't.

After being forcibly marched outside, I meandered (stumbled?) down to Elizabeth St and was ecstatic to find that Subway was still open. Resisting the urge to order all of the remaining stock, I grabbed a foot-long meatball sub and a Powerade, and started the seemingly eternal search for a taxi.

Actually, it was only about 5 minutes later that I found a guy willing to drive me the 5km back to my house. I gave him a nice little tip for not being one of those pricks who pull up, ask where you're going through the window, and then drive off because the fare isn't big enough. Arriving home, I was arrested by the sight of my housemate Chivos, who was passed out on the living room floor. Not on the very comfortable couch, which was only a metre away, but on the floor right in front of the TV. Making my way into the kitchen, I found the reason for his stupor - about 16 empty cans of Melbourne Bitter (Worst. Beer. Ever.) were lined up on the table. After what seemed like 10 minutes (and was, in fact, 10 minutes) of giggling like a schoolgirl, I managed to wake him up and get him into a sitting position. From there, it took a fair bit of effort by both of us to get him into bed. He will be copping it for most of today as a result.

I'm now sitting here at my PC feeling extremely hungover. Six hours of sleep after a big day/night is not the answer. The cricket doesn't start for another few hours, and I can't face the prospect of food for a while yet. Time to whip up a few retrospective posts about my time in China which is, after all, what this blog is supposed to be about.