Falling off the wagon
Less than 48 hours into the new healthy me, Saturday night saw a particularly spectacular fall from the wagon. 48 hours must be some sort of record.
I knew it was going to be a struggle after I had the "shall we go out tonight" phonecall from assorted friends. Alcohol was meant to be in moderation, moderation isnt a word that is used very often on a Saturday night out.
To cut a very long story very short. I ended the night extremely drunk. 2.30am saw me staggering from a club and making my way, as I normally do, to Mansfields finest after hours chip shop, its almost a sixth sense for me. I can only assume that its some sort of silent calling, a pilgramage that generations of Watski's have done in the past. A bit like the birds flying South for winter or the squirrels knowing where theyve buried their nuts, I am drawn to this eating establishment at the same time each week. My offspring and their offspring and all the other Watski's will no doubt make the same journey in the future.
I proceeded to tuck into their normally uneatable Battered Beefburger and Chips, why does food you never would normally touch look so appetising after a night out? If squashed pigeon was scraped up into a sandwich I'd be sticking tomato sauce all over it without even thinking about it. It was about half way through when I had my first guilt pang, but I managed to stifle it and carry on, which wasnt too difficult. I imagined CJ telling me off but it was too nice to stop.
I got a taxi home and the next thing I remember was being face down in the garden, all wet from the dew. How did I get this drunk? Then the next thing I remember after that was waking up at 8am on the settee, fluffy mouth, fully clothed, with the back door wide open and next doors cat looking at me in disgust.
If that Cat had rubbed a magic lantern at that moment and the genie had said to it:
"I am the genie and can turn you into a human if you so wish",
the Cat would have taken one look at me and said
"Like him? Nah, Im ok as I am, thanks all the same".
I rose from the settee and looked for my mobile phone, I couldnt find it. I knew it would be somewhere around so I rung it from the house phone. Couldnt hear it. Then I checked the human shaped, flattened area of grass on the back garden and found it around where the arm was. Luckily it was no worse for wear.
The worst thing about the whole sorry saga was the phone said that I'd missed a missed call, I looked at the number and knew that I knew it but spent about 10 minutes trying to work out who it was. Then I realised. It was me. 2 minutes before.
I went back to bed, feeling guilty for using up so much oxygen.
Posts may be sporadic this week...
I knew it was going to be a struggle after I had the "shall we go out tonight" phonecall from assorted friends. Alcohol was meant to be in moderation, moderation isnt a word that is used very often on a Saturday night out.
To cut a very long story very short. I ended the night extremely drunk. 2.30am saw me staggering from a club and making my way, as I normally do, to Mansfields finest after hours chip shop, its almost a sixth sense for me. I can only assume that its some sort of silent calling, a pilgramage that generations of Watski's have done in the past. A bit like the birds flying South for winter or the squirrels knowing where theyve buried their nuts, I am drawn to this eating establishment at the same time each week. My offspring and their offspring and all the other Watski's will no doubt make the same journey in the future.
I proceeded to tuck into their normally uneatable Battered Beefburger and Chips, why does food you never would normally touch look so appetising after a night out? If squashed pigeon was scraped up into a sandwich I'd be sticking tomato sauce all over it without even thinking about it. It was about half way through when I had my first guilt pang, but I managed to stifle it and carry on, which wasnt too difficult. I imagined CJ telling me off but it was too nice to stop.
I got a taxi home and the next thing I remember was being face down in the garden, all wet from the dew. How did I get this drunk? Then the next thing I remember after that was waking up at 8am on the settee, fluffy mouth, fully clothed, with the back door wide open and next doors cat looking at me in disgust.
If that Cat had rubbed a magic lantern at that moment and the genie had said to it:
"I am the genie and can turn you into a human if you so wish",
the Cat would have taken one look at me and said
"Like him? Nah, Im ok as I am, thanks all the same".
I rose from the settee and looked for my mobile phone, I couldnt find it. I knew it would be somewhere around so I rung it from the house phone. Couldnt hear it. Then I checked the human shaped, flattened area of grass on the back garden and found it around where the arm was. Luckily it was no worse for wear.
The worst thing about the whole sorry saga was the phone said that I'd missed a missed call, I looked at the number and knew that I knew it but spent about 10 minutes trying to work out who it was. Then I realised. It was me. 2 minutes before.
I went back to bed, feeling guilty for using up so much oxygen.
Posts may be sporadic this week...
