I zoomed home from work, changed into my bike clothes with my work clothes in my back pack, and then I hit the trail. I would cycle the ten or so miles to the pub, have the meal and then cycle home. I could reasonably expect to be able to drink and eat (to some extent) with impunity.
One thing I forgot to factor into the equation was a general lack of precise knowledge of the area, so finding the pub would prove tricky. However, I had my trusty mp3 player playing, I was singing along and the evening was pleasant enough to make the journey lung- and soul-filling.
I reached a junction and decided to turn left. I then learned the awful truth. Mile-long wrong turnings and incorrect routes are always downhill. I crawled back up the hill and, running 5 or 10 minutes late already, tried again. As I arrived, with some relief, at the pub, I managed to make an entrance as I discovered a work colleague standing in the car park looking for other party-comers, so he saw me arrive, and I also managed to get a big beeping at from the car that was clearly trying to use my rear tyre as a parking space.
I was angered by the beeping and started to accelerate at the inconsiderate motorist that had been such a knob-end to me. Then I remembered that I was no longer on the road and that I didn't really have the acceleration to reach the guy in time to waggle my finger at him.
So, I chained up the bike, got changed, had the party, to which I'd invited a range of people from different parts of the organisation, drank a few drinkies and then started home.
Sadly, my chain came off about 10 feet into the journey, requiring a bit of swearing and tugging at it, creating very oily hands, before it clunked back into a usable form. Still, I got to cycle home. I sang more as I went.
All in, I managed about 2 hours' cycling, maybe 23 miles, and both acts of Les Miserables.