My Wonderful Eighteenth Birthday
On my eighteenth birthday my good friend Oz came round.
‘I haven’t bought you a present,’ he informed me.
‘Cheers, mate,’ I replied.
‘I’m going to take you on a pub crawl,’ he told me enthusiastically, taking a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket. ‘I’ve drawn up a route. We’re going to have a pint in each pub.’
I scanned the sheet. As there were twenty six pubs that seemed a little ambitious, but I was up for it.
When opening time came we were there at the door, downed our first pint and moved on.
Now I was a very fit, five foot six, rugby playing hooker who weighed a mere 120 lbs. Each pint virtually doubled my weight.
As the evening progressed we managed a mere twelve pubs. At the last one we decided there wasn’t time to go on to another so we finished up with a second pint and then I had this wish for a double gin and lime. That was unusual because I do not like gin and lime.
It was around midnight when we found ourselves out on the street again and I was overcome with a desire for a beef burger.
Now these were the days before even the questionable delights of McDonalds. All we had were the pale imitation of a Wimpy-burger. At that time they resembled a greasy slab of cardboard between two halves of a soggy bap. Yet this sounded as if it would hit the spot. I consumed two.
On the way home we did the customary business of walking along walls and climbing up lampposts, singing and cracking immensely funny jokes. Town was only a mile away from home but it took us three hours.
As my birthday is the end of May and it was still chilly my thoughtful mother had put my electric blanket on.
I was cleaning my teeth sitting on the edge of the bath when I fell in.
That seemed a good thing at the time. I could imagine telling Oz the next day that I had slept in the bath.
Anybody who has tried sleeping in a bath would soon discover that it is not as comfortable as it sounds. I woke up half an hour later cramped and cold and took myself off to bed.
By this time my bed resembled a furnace more than a sleeping place. But I was past caring. I crawled in and tried to get to sleep. I couldn’t. The sweat was dripping off my forehead.
Now in a normal state I might have thought that it was hot, perhaps remove the covers? But all I managed was the first the first part of that. I lay their under the covers sweltering. Then it all went horribly wrong. Every time I closed my eyes my head started spinning. I had to open my eyes and re-orientate myself. But I was so tired I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
Then it got really bad. I found that even with my eyes open it wouldn’t stop spinning. I was in some cosmic spin drier. Then I started doing whale impersonations except it wasn’t brine I was projecting into the air. Luckily, though I was on my back, I didn’t breathe in and do a Jimi Hendrix.
The next morning I awoke in a congealed mess.
I had a splitting headache and took myself off to the park where I watched the old folk playing bowls and winced every time one ball hit another.
It took three days for the hang-over to wear off and I decided that alcohol could not be doing me any good if it made me feel as bad as that. I vowed never to drink again and didn’t for the next twelve years.
That’s the danger – hitting the shorts at the end of the night. Always a mistake and one that was par for course for me. I can’t say how many nights I suffered lying awake steaming drunk in a sweltering mess in 35 degrees heat and 90% humidity at 4:30 am when I lived in Asia. Yes, I know all about the 3-day hangovers because I only really felt normal every 4th day, every week, every month, every year. Quite how I made it for work is a miracle really, but nothing to do with me. My driver and girlfriend would drag me into the shower and whack it on me, whether still dressed from last night or not. A bit like the scene at the beginning of Apocalypse Now. A constitution that I certainly don’t possess today. I’m feeling queezy now just thinking about it.
i blamed it on the burger.
This was a good one.
Not the next day it wasn’t!
So, what happened when you were 30 and started drinking again? Or were you just finally over your hangover?
I actually did not touch a drop of alcohol for twelve years (apart from weddings). After thirty I began having the odd drink and now I like to drink in moderation – the odd beer or a couple of glasses of wine. I’ve seen the effects of heavy drinking on people. It’s not nice.
Two thirds of UK ex-pats who have retired and living in Spain and Cyprus die from cirrhosis of the liver, due to cheap locally made spirits and what is basically industrial chemicals from Russia. I’ve tried a lot of them just out of interest and they taste horrible. There’s no such thing as cheap good quality booze. My local bar hits me for £8 for a shot of my favourite Cachaca rum. The rubbish is £2.
It’s a big killer. I know of many people who have succumbed. Alcohol is a nasty drug best taken in mopderation and not mixed with other drugs.
May I interrupt Andrew and Opher, when I was up in London around June, I asked for a G&T in a Barbican Pub and was told £12 – I have better at home. My Sons tell me that was City prices, I would not go there again.
London prices are ridiculous. I don’t know how most people manage to live there.
Neither do I, horrible place the Barbican. I was looking for this well known little Church and no one had any idea where it was, including the Taxi drivers! Found it in the end via an foreign road worker.
Taxi drivers usually know everything!
Well I came across a bunch of idiots, more than likely they could not be bothered. Now if I were blond and big busted they would have helped, there you go.
Yeah – well if I was six foot seven and handsome……
Well aren’t you?
I dream a lot!
Only when I dream!
Like me then!
Dreaming’s good! As long as it isn’t a habit. You don’t want to turn into a nun.
Despite my Husband not really wanting me, I would never become a Nun, evil they are.
I thought about being a monk but it was getting into a habit.
I can’t think of a funny answer for that, you are too good and quick for me.
That one’s older than Methuselah! Don’t give up your day job!
Glad you liked it – Andrew was having nun of it!
I don’t have a day job. Or a night job – neither am I abbot to get one!
Even worse! Here’s one you’ll love.
2 nuns attacked by 2 rapists, habits ripped off and the action starts. One says “forgive him lord, for he knows not what he is doing” – the other one groaning, exclaims “oh god, mine does”!
This could start getting onto dangerous ground!
Reblogged this on Opher's World and commented:
If you are enjoying thyese anecdotes you can purchase tens of them in my two books of anecdotes.