dylan

See, Brighton has this zombie walk where everyone dresses as, you guessed it, a zombie, and lurches unsteadily (either by affecting a shuffling limp befitting the outfit, or by consuming large quantities of alcohol in every pub they pass) down to the seafront. This is followed up by some undead pubbing and clubbing, then safely home to a nice cosy grave for some (eternal) shut-eye. However at some point in the clubbing stage, some French non-zombie friends of mine came down and whisked me away to a different club, where the zombie dress-code wasn't in force. For some reason when I'm drunk I become convinced I can speak French. I spent the whole night off my face (befitting an Amy Wine-zombie) wailing "Je suis le seul zombi! Je suis bourr!* Mathieu! Je suis le SEUL ZOMBI!" I trashed my wig, I covered myself in inexplicable bruises, and now, almost a week later, my right foot is still pink from fake blood stains (yes, thanks, I have tried washing).

*This funny selection of characters up there is meant to be an 'e' with an an acute accent...

Oh, and the funny selection of characters above that is a photo of some zombies. Ho ho ho.