In the Drink

Ok, I know I said I was going to try and limit my “I’ve been out drinking” posts, but this particular night calls for a special mention.

On Friday I caught up with my old mates John and Brett, starting the night with a fantastic dumpling dinner in what has to be the smallest and dingiest restaurant in China Town (you want the truth? YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!”). Following that we had a couple of quiet drinks at a pub in Darlinghurst. John jumped on his train, and at about this point the night got off the hook.

We attempted to get into Sidebar, so I could show Brett the hottest bar chick in the world, but he was refused entry because he had no ID, so we resorted to the last resort: Scubar. We sat in the corner, drank too much Jager then met up with some of the crew from my Hostel. Sick of Scubar we formulated a new plan.

Jumping in a taxi we headed out to a club on Darling Harbor. Dancing ensued, as well as much drinking and debauchery and things got hazy. They only really get clear again when Brett and I stripped off and jumped in the harbor out the front of the club. We were quickly moved along, then got grabbed by Rangers who attempted to a) tell us we couldn’t swim in the harbor (which I called shenanigans on because there was no signs saying we couldn’t) and b) tried to bust us for indecent exposure as we were walking around in our undies. We had to get dressed while still soaked. Smelling like wet dogs we wandered the streets causing a ruckus and tooling about in general.

I got home at about 4am, smelling of harbor water and booze. It was a great night and, seeing as I’m still around to write this: proof that swimming in the Harbor isn’t as dangerous as it may seem.

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