I woke up this morning to a symphony of pain, I located the source of it in my knee regions, peeling back my jeans - (which I was still wearing - but bearing in mind I was sleeping on the stairs, was not the the most major of my troubles) - I observed the large bloody mess of destroyed skin and lumps of things that shouldn't be sticking out there,that existed thereof.
It was at that point a memory clicked into life, as if my brain were being operated by a senile projectionist; I remembered heading to my local sleazy nightspot, where the very walls reek of sweat and desperation, where staggering into the toilets it is not uncommon to have your shirt lifted above your head as a large grinning loon douses you in enough deoderant to gas a badger whilst demanding 2 quid for the privilige. The list of shots at the bar can be described as optomistic at best and you just count yourself lucky the emo student behind the bar with existential problems hasn't put line-cleaner in it by mistake. The carpet is mushy with, what at best is the spilled drinks of giggling office workers with those stupid pink cowboy hats and at worst is the bodily fluids from when young Biancaaa from HR has one too many Jagerbombs thrust upon her and deciedes to evacuate most of her stomach contents upon the floor.
I give you that description so you are in no doubts, whatsoever, that I drink in an utter dump, and that the denizens of this place are all the same damaged and drunken indivduals. That no matter what, the lass I then proceeded to injure myself for is in no way going to be hot, clever, a soulmate - she is most definately not Kiera Knightly.
As I proceeded to hurl Jagerbombs down my neck, I became aware of a charver in a dress gyrating creakily on the highly raised podium that exists in this bar. In my addled state apparently this apparition was as seductive as Carla Bruni lying covered in honey giving a "come hither" look.
I exorted my friends to carry me to the podium and then lift me up on to it - it gives you a degree on the height of this thing off the floor - and then; oh I danced. I danced, I flirted, I dare say the spirits of Cary Grant and Fred Astaire were with me last night, it was truly a magical moment, then as she looked on in utter adoration I cooly dismounted the podium by leaping the rails and sauntering into the night for her to follow..... well no, thats what should have happened but what actually happened was too much drunken grinding, a large amount of shouted "what did you say" thanks to the music noise.... and then the dismount, there's many things you could say about the dismount of the podium "graceful" would not ever be one of them. I did leap the rails, I did soar like a salmon for all of three seconds, until I hit the floor. Hard. With my knees. and my face.
I share this, because there must be those of you out there who do this most nights of the week as well, what's your worst/ best drinking story, most amusing injury whilst drunk, strangest place you've woken up, strangest person you've woken up with?
Answers please, meanwhile I remember buying a 12" Kebab Pizza with extra garlic sauce, so I'm off to stick my head in that for a while.
It was at that point a memory clicked into life, as if my brain were being operated by a senile projectionist; I remembered heading to my local sleazy nightspot, where the very walls reek of sweat and desperation, where staggering into the toilets it is not uncommon to have your shirt lifted above your head as a large grinning loon douses you in enough deoderant to gas a badger whilst demanding 2 quid for the privilige. The list of shots at the bar can be described as optomistic at best and you just count yourself lucky the emo student behind the bar with existential problems hasn't put line-cleaner in it by mistake. The carpet is mushy with, what at best is the spilled drinks of giggling office workers with those stupid pink cowboy hats and at worst is the bodily fluids from when young Biancaaa from HR has one too many Jagerbombs thrust upon her and deciedes to evacuate most of her stomach contents upon the floor.
I give you that description so you are in no doubts, whatsoever, that I drink in an utter dump, and that the denizens of this place are all the same damaged and drunken indivduals. That no matter what, the lass I then proceeded to injure myself for is in no way going to be hot, clever, a soulmate - she is most definately not Kiera Knightly.
As I proceeded to hurl Jagerbombs down my neck, I became aware of a charver in a dress gyrating creakily on the highly raised podium that exists in this bar. In my addled state apparently this apparition was as seductive as Carla Bruni lying covered in honey giving a "come hither" look.
I exorted my friends to carry me to the podium and then lift me up on to it - it gives you a degree on the height of this thing off the floor - and then; oh I danced. I danced, I flirted, I dare say the spirits of Cary Grant and Fred Astaire were with me last night, it was truly a magical moment, then as she looked on in utter adoration I cooly dismounted the podium by leaping the rails and sauntering into the night for her to follow..... well no, thats what should have happened but what actually happened was too much drunken grinding, a large amount of shouted "what did you say" thanks to the music noise.... and then the dismount, there's many things you could say about the dismount of the podium "graceful" would not ever be one of them. I did leap the rails, I did soar like a salmon for all of three seconds, until I hit the floor. Hard. With my knees. and my face.
I share this, because there must be those of you out there who do this most nights of the week as well, what's your worst/ best drinking story, most amusing injury whilst drunk, strangest place you've woken up, strangest person you've woken up with?
Answers please, meanwhile I remember buying a 12" Kebab Pizza with extra garlic sauce, so I'm off to stick my head in that for a while.
