A night out storytelling.

This happened to me yesterday, I just thought it was a funny story so I thought I would present it here. Hope you like it.
As a lot of people that know me know that I am am member of the storytelling society at Derby. It is about roughly every two weeks that an event is put on by the Flying Donkeys, a storytelling group that resides in Derby. So off we went, my friend and I to this event at the Hallmark Hotel for a night of intent listening pleasure (we were only an hour late *Ed lifts up his eyes and tuts in a 'what are we like' manner*)
So we listened to about three or four stories, my friend presenting the beginning of the epic of Gilgamesh...ah that mischievious Enkidu.
So afterwards we walk to the friends residence where I stay until about 12 at night when I decide that I should go because of my workshopping lectures that start at 9am the next. So I leave, turn right towards my house. While I walk I think about tommorrow morning, about what I will need to bring in, I reach in my bag to take out a book that I had encased in it and low and behold... don't even have my bag. My next thought leads me to the conclusion that I had left it at the hotel as I had put it down as I was listening to the stories. What else could I do? All my books that I need for lectures are in there, I had to travel all the way through town, past all the drunken people that were partying that night, walk for miles until I got to the hotel. This journey was not as easy as it sounded; I took too many wrong turns, through some areas that I have never been too before, having to ask a drunk fellah for directions (he was standing so close to me I could smell his fag breath with every word.) When I got to the hotel the doors were locked, but luckily was let in, then I had to describe my bag, they got it from some store room, I thanked the fellah who had a kind face and walked for ages until I got home at about 2: 30 in the morning. Not much of an early night...and I was frickin nackered.
Over and out.