I really do.
I wish I was one of those people who had a hilarious drunken, drug fuelled anecdote that ends up with me and eight Russians waking up in a prison cell in Glasgow because we’d kidnapped a midget and tried to sell him as a live in rent boy to disgraced Politician; he’d be in the cell as well at this point but for very very different reasons…
I even strangely wish I was like that guy I read about in the paper (Please note, I use the term paper very loosely because it was in The Sun admittedly) who got so pissed that he tried to threaten his tight mate into buying the next round by declaring “If you don’t buy it – I will shoot myself in the cock”.
Needless to say, it wasn’t the sound of the cash register dinging that echoed around the pub in the next tense few minutes – not unless it’s very similar to that of a shell from a shotgun bullet. And I’m pretty sure he hadn’t just spilt his Bloody Mary. Not that I would ever question the liquor of choice of a shotgun wielding alcoholic. Appletini? Certainly Mr Bickle…You’re not driving are you?
Stubborn friends can be such a ball ache can’t they? Quite literally in this case. But still, I bet they laugh about it now. What a hoot. Sometimes I wonder if he’s the reason the term getting ‘Bollocksed’ was invented.
Or like Raoul Moat. I bet if he hadn’t died, he and Gazza would be sitting in the pub right now going…”Aye, well do yuz remember that tyme I got soo drunk that I held meself hostage? Whut was ah thinking, man?”
You catch my drift.
But I’m not cool, I never have been, I never will be…and I’m ok with that. I’m the kid that would turn up on mufty day wearing fake two stripe Adidas joggers, with shoes and a fake Fila jumper I got from Wolverhampton Market. And if that little ensemble was in the wash (which wasn’t often), I’d probably wear some chequered trousers that were too small for me, a scrunchie and an oversized denim shirt. Very reminiscent of an early 1990’s Pauline Quirke; and not at all in an ironic way. Put it this way – my favourite top was a sleeveless turtle neck with the words ‘Bonjour’ embroidered on the neck line.
I don’t know why.
I’d never even been to France.
I didn’t smoke, and still don’t. I was the annoying kid at school that stood at the end of the Alley way spraying myself with Exclamation Dare perfume every time you took a drag.
I don’t do drugs, and never really have. I tried Mushrooms – but they just sent me Tits. I think that was largely due to the fact I did them whilst watching Michael Jackson’s Moonwalker; which is never a good idea – even after a bag of Skittles. And I don’t think the fact my mate just kept laughing hysterically and saying…”Are you dead? You look dead. Kaz, I really think you’ve actually died you know. Seriously. What is wrong with your face?” Everything just went completely black and white for the whole day – and not in an alluring Film Noir kind of way. It was more of terrified abused puppy whimpering behind the sofa in an abused Dogs Trust advert kind of way.
Awesome. Thanks Joey.
And weed – well weed just makes me think I’ve weed…myself. I don’t know how else to explain that one.
And Poppers? I’m so naive, I once drank a bottle of poppers out of someone’s car boot by a ring road because I didn’t know what to do with it; and subsequently slipped into a mild coma for around a day and a half.
That’s never cool.
I can’t even handle prescripion drugs. I’m not a good sleeper me, unless i’ve had a cheeky glass of wine (oooh dependant). So once i tried taking a couple of Valerian to help me sleep, and in my stupid paranoid head managed to convince myself that I might never wake up again. Like accidental self euthanisation. So i downed about 10 black coffees in a row to counterbalance it.
It didn’t work. Well half of it did….
From the neck down I was like Usain Bolt – from the neck up…Stephen Hawkins.
Drink? Now I do like a drink. I can handle drink. I’m obnoxious when I drink, but in a very charming way I’m sure.
You see, I talk to other people and it’s all…
”Oh man, I got so fucked up on MDMA/Coke/Rum that I ….”
And a hilarious yet slightly disturbing anecdote will ensue. It’s usually then that I realise that I have very few and very tame responses in my drunk tank:
“Jesus. That’s Funny. You know what I did once, I was so drunk that I…”
1. Woke up and thought I’d been attacked and beaten up as my whole face was completely bruised. Turns out i’d smashed a jar of beetroot in the kitchen. Lesson learnt, have a wash. Cool Points: Nil
2. High -jacked a German tourist bus when on Holiday in Spain, declaring that I was going to start a new life with them. I still wonder to this day how my life would have turned out if they’d just let me go with my dream and not kicked me off that bus.
3. Accused a polite kebab shop owner of secretly filming me having a wee. God knows why I thought he’s wanna see that, he’s probably seen better a doner kebab reel than my squatting thighs. To make matters worse as an act of punishment I then proceeded to rub my tray of chips in his face after specifically requesting that he drowned them in tomato sauce. You’ll never know how sorry I am Mr Dixie Chicken. I really did rub them in good. Like a malicous late night tv show on Bravo, a cross between Bodger and Badger and ‘Leeds – At Night’.
4. Ate an entire net bag of Babybel Lights after a cider binge. Have you ever done that? Don’t. It’s awful. I won’t go into details, but all I’ll say is that it ended up like a deleted scene from the Sleepers DVD…
I had a similar experience with a Whiskey and Pickled Egg chaser…
5. Got bit by a smack head. – Yeah that one was pretty bad. My wrist blew up like a bowlers bicep. But don’t be put off, you can still hug me. If Eastenders has taught you anything, it’s that you can still Party with Todd Carty – and buy his fruit.
I could go on…but they get progressively tedious. Yet I must say it’s been strangely cathartic for me to explain how inexplicably uncool i am.
Maybe, if you’re round this way again i’ll tell you about the time I got run over by a taxi by tying to ride it Michael J Fox style, went to a casino, forgot I went to a casino and then accused the bank of fraud, went on a 24hour bender and missed my moms wedding rehearsal – or if you’re lucky I’ll tell you about the time I pissed the bed.
You’ll be back. I just know it.
As Winston Churchill once said:
“In Victory, Deserve It. In Defeat, Need It.”
And Oliver Reed…
“You meet a better class of people in pubs”
Indeed you do Ollie, indeed you do.