This was the last night I spent in Denver.
It was barely two weeks ago, yet it all seems so far away… as if it was just some sort of hazy dream.
Apparently when I had been intoxicated at an earlier point I had demanded that we do karaoke (WHY?!), and that myself and Jeremiah would do a Proclaimers duet…. so this was the night that it came to pass.
‘500 Miles’ duets with Americans seem to be becoming a recurring theme of travel abroad. I get stupidly into the moment, with my inner performer coming out with worrying results.
There’s video evidence, but I can’t bear to even watch it myself, so it’s better that it never sees the light of day.
Kayla is a mentalist.
I’ve got a picture like this of Grace from the last time I was in Colorado a year ago.
I think this is a sign that she is on her phone far too often and needs to change her habits.
You should have seen this bar… one of the strangest, hillbilly type biker places around.
There was $2 ‘mystery shots’ at this place… which was essentially different bizarre flavoured vodkas that probably nobody had ever bought and they were trying to get rid of.
I’ll tell you something… Peanut butter and jelly vodka will definitely not be making it onto my regular drinking list anytime soon.
This guy’s name was Stan. He told me he once had a Scottish friend, and kept referring to me as Irish to try and wind me up. If he’d said English it might have had more of an effect, to be fair.
He bought me three or four shots, including some trademark ‘coon shot’ which was apparently invented at this particular bar. I’ve no idea what the name refers to, and thought it better not to ask.
Those shots wiped out my recollection of the rest of the evening though.
…he was a tall guy.
This is me the next day, just before we had to leave for the airport.
I had clearly sobered up completely by this point.
Take me back?