A whole chicken (in our hands)

I understand the big meeting of the two Princes didn't materialise on Saturday. I've no idea why HRH Prince William wasn't introduced to our own Prince of Darkness when he arrived to officially open the new Meeja Wales offices. But when I first heard of the apparent snub I did wonder whether the Sambucca fumes wafting across the office persuaded the powers-that-be it might be a good idea to steer His Royal Highness in the opposite direction.
Plenty of others turned up to bow and lig in front of the royal one, however, as the three-line whip was cracked. Many of those were making their first-ever appearances in the office on a Saturday - unlike those of us who have spent nearly every weekend since christendom shackled to our desks. Amazing what a little bit of royal fairydust can do.
You might expect that, when summoned by Royal appointment, the Dark Lord would take it a mite easy the night before. But he made his intentions clear shortly after we left a birthday party for Paul Magic Wakefield in Six Foot Under and made our way to a more austere venue, the good old City Arms. It was here, after a quick pint as a livener, that the Prince appeared with a tray of shot glasses and announced, in typical fashion, "Are we having a drink or are we having a f***ing drink". From that moment he had decided it was Sambucca time and, I must admit, I don't remember much more about it after doing my Angus Young impression to Highway to Hell and then acting like a lunatic in the bar (tie around head and throwing baseball cap to the four corners of the room) apparently to the tunes of my own personal DJ.
To be honest, though, I was so out of it that I eventually sloped off to get a taxi . That night Wren had also been out on the razz in Bristol and had managed to mix her drinks pretty well, too. I'm not sure who was more coherent when we discussed our nights out later.
In fact, Wren and I were supposed to be going to look at wedding cakes in Weston-Super-Mare on Saturday but neither of us could face it so we cancelled. Instead we watched Arsenal beat Manchester United 2-1 and then went for a bit of fresh air in Albany Road.
Feeling peckish, we popped into the Albany Fish Bar and ended up ordering a whole chicken, masses of chips, a carton each of mushy peas, curry sauce and were persuaded to try their new chilli sauce offering, too. It's fair to say we didn't go hungry on Saturday night, making routine trips back to the kitchen to pick at the chicken or dip a cold chip in the rather lively chilli sauce. Mmm!

In the early hours of Sunday morning I managed to wake up just in time to see Joe Calzaghe's last-ever fight (we think). It was a tremendous performance against the great Roy Jones Jr, particularly as Joe was on the seat of his pants after barely a minute following a ferocious assault by Roy.
Yet he somehow got through the round and in the sixth he produced a bad cut on Jones Jr's eye which many suggested would have brought an end to the contest in a British ring. To be honest, after the first round it was all one way and undoubtedly one of Joe's finest performances, though he does worry his fans with his increasing tendency to showboat.

On Sunday Wren and I went to see W. the new film by Oliver Stone about the presidency of George Bush. It was terrific stuff, with some great portrayals. Josh Brolin was excellent as Bush, and those who appeared as Condoleeza Rice and Dick Cheney were equally good. It was a well spent few hours.
Last night, after Wren's departure, I also saw a film on ITV4 called the Beast, a story of a Russian tank being tracked through the Afghan dessert by the Muhajadeen. Excellent.