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So, Mr Fusco has turned 25. A full quarter of a century. He can now enjoy such pleasures as cheap car insurance and facial wrinkles. As we were aware of the man's fondness for scotch eggs, Gomez had the terrific idea to create the ultimate Scotch egg using an enormous ostridge egg. (That was too many eggs in one sentence.) He got the idea from here, and with the help of myself, Clara and Sykes, spent most of Saturday boiling and baking to create a masterpiece. So complete with candles and all, the super-egg was presented to him in the Byng, where it was cut with similar pride and jubilation to a newly weds four tier wedding cake.

We then took a (free) train up to Stevenage, where Paolo had to drink the compulsory birthday shots. I thought it was all going a bit easy for him, so despite Gomez's mothering instincts, trying to persuade me otherwise, I went to the bar and requested:

"What is the strongest, nastiest most horrible shot or cocktail you do?"
"That would be the Flatline."
"Ok, get me two!"

I am not sure exactly what was in it but Mr Fusco did need to drink two pints of water immediately after having them. Well done for keeping them down, although I fear this may come back to haunt me in late September.

After the cocktails, we went in search of the best nightlife Stevenage had to offer. Ignoring the cock-like nature of the door staff at Jumpin Jacks, it was quite a strange experience. It seemed as though every woman was either part of a hen party or a nurse or both! And the average age of both male and females were enough to make even Mr Fusco feel young! But this did not deter the man from seeking birthday hugs and kisses from anything with a pulse. Good work fella!

• Pics set one
• Pics set two

This entry was posted on Sunday, July 31st, 2005 at 1:39 pm by Hopkins and is filed under Birthdays. You can skip to the end and leave a response.