Smashy and not nicey

Urgh! Well, I know I promised the Baked Ziti recipe but it aint gonna happen. I was supposed to go home nice and early last night, couple of pints in the pub then slip the aforementioned culinary delight into the oven having already lovingly prepared it the previous day. But the best-laid plans can always be derailed, particularly if I end up in the City Arms on a Friday night.
You see, the City Arms is the home of my own personal DJ Jase, who owns all the best records I have ever heard or possessed. Jase even provided the soundtrack for my 46th birthday shenanigans this year.
I remember asking him how he knew all these fantastic songs, and he worringly told me that his Dad used to play them when he was still in nappies. That really cheered me up.
Anyway, Mashers and Freeman are off to America for a six-week tour. The Thelma and Louise of the Echo wanted to say goodbye before they left and organised their do at the City Arms. Freeman (or Nicey as I like to think of him) was even appearing as a guest DJ. He's got the right name for it. When I was a kid we always used to listen to Alan "fluff" Freeman doing the chart show on a Sunday - perhaps the Echo man is a distant relative, who knows? We should all call him Fluff from now on, anyhow.
Music was great, though. All punk, new wave... some songs I hadn't heard in ages. Remember That Petrol Emotion? They didn't last long but "Big Decision" has to have one of the best riffs ever. Good choice, Fluff.
I then get speaking to Gerry's folks, who were spending a weekend in Cardiff on a flying visit from north Wales. Think it was the Ramones tee-shirt that told me they were my type of people. Anyway, one thing led to another, and my own personal DJ took over, playing all the records that remind me of younger and happier times, when I didn't have a care in the world blah, blah.
At one stage I left and reached the taxi rank. Ziti awaiting. But before the taxi turned up I had a brain storm and went back to the pub.

There's a funny tune racing around my brain. "What condition my condition was in" by Kenny Rogers. It's the most memorable song in that fantastic Coen Brothers film "The Big Lebowski" and particularly poignant at this time. It seems to be getting louder and going on forever.
Shit! It's the new ringtone Beckett sent me. I open a blurry eye and look at the clock. 8.30! I'm normally in work on a Saturday by now. Scramble around and pick up the phone. It's Dad. My stepmum Jean is unwell and it's probably not a good idea to visit on Sunday.
Thanks Dad, you saved my bacon. I would still be in bed now if you hadn't rung.
Even at 12.30 I'm still not actually sure what condition my condition is in. Critical, some might say.