Alpen Yoghurt Bars with Apple & Blackberry

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It's madness. I never thought I'd be typing anything like this. Alpen yoghurt bars with apple & blackberry are seriously good. What's more, they're really healthy too. Sadly, I seem to be missing the whole point from the health angle as I've eaten a box of six in two days. I think the idea is to have one a day for breakfast...

I'm having trouble blogging at the moment. I often do it at work during my lunchtime but the nazi internet police at the company where I work have prevented all internet use, apart from management approved sites. Basically, if it's not essential to your job, you can't access it. What a big fat pain. It's not as if I don't get my work done.

So. What have I been up to? Er...

Spent the weekend at our place in Brighton. It's been a while since we were there last and it was great to be by the sea again. Saturday was a be-yoooo-tiful day so it was briliant to be out and about. However, that's really all I can write about on the 'fresh air and clean living' aspects of a life by the sea.

The other half had a small business meeting on Saturday afternoon (captains of industry never switch off do they...?). Our friend David and I decided that a bit of shopping would hit the spot but we were derailed by a nearby bar and the lure of cocktails. At 3.30pm! It's scandalous, I know. But we threw caution to the wind, set up a tab and settled in for tall glasses of ice-pop flavoured goop, fruit salad garnish and a cheeky kick. Some time later the other half arrived to a smiley pair of booze addled wrecks and declared last orders. We trundled off home to have a disco nap before the evening's shenanigans. Half way home, David piped up "uh-oh....". As there was some ridiculous face pulling to accompany the 'uh-oh' I wondered what the heck he was on about. With good cause, David had halted in his tracks. We'd forgotten to pay the tab and had just walked out. Major faff! We called the bar and apologised hugely. The barman - attractive, rakish and, as with barmen almost everywhere, always temptingly just out of reach - was massively impressed and thanked us for being honest. WTF? We returned, now disappointingly sober to pay the bill.

It was starting to get a bit chilly and David began to get a bit grumbly about not having any holidays to look forward to. Suddenly he then lurched off to the left, dragging me in to a tanning salon. I wasn't as sober as I thought because six minutes later I was back on the street with a warm glow and a somewhat rosier complexion. I don't normally go in for a blast on a sunbed but I've got to admit, I did feel perkier and rather more dashing with a Saturday night tan!

We raced home, showered, changed and then nipped to a nearby bar for drinks with a friend before floating off on a vodka foamed wave to a great restaurant for dinner. If anyone is visiting Brighton and looking for recommendations, you MUST try Pintxo People. It's kinda cool, makes the most amazing Blueberry Daquiris (I know - I'm just bursting with testosterone in this post aren't I?) and has a really fun atmosphere. The food is amazing - it's the only chance the other half gets to speak as David and I spend a fair bit of time deep in serious concentration, shovelling food into our usually yacking pie-holes. Poor bloke. We had the best octopus I've ever tasted tho. Even the other half liked it and he avoids all foodstuffs with the texture of marigold gloves, perhaps understandably.

We ended up falling out of the restaurant and getting home at about 2am.

I was just pulling my shoes off and trying to decide whether I could be arsed making a cup of tea before bed or not, when the other half declared he wasn't ready for bed, that we were going back out and a taxi was on it's way. Bloody hell. Back on with my shoes and coat.

Some hours later, when the other half realised he wasn't made for extended drinking or dancing, he hauled David and I out of the club and into a taxi home.

Whilst leaning against the sink with an enormous glass of water before bed, I received a text message from my chums who now live in Sydney. I replied and they called me - they were still ripped to the gills from Mardi Gras the day before and just gearing up for a Sunday night's revelry. I've got to hand it to them. Those guys were rubbish when they lived in London and would be safely in bed by 1am. Sydney has honed them into hardened party boys. Must be all that sea air....

Right. My next post will be shorter, involve more cake and I promise to butch up. Honest.