Picture the scene. It's 1987, about two weeks after the infamous Michael Fish non existent hurricane, and I am alone with my best mate in his house. It's Saturday night, his parents are out for the foreseeable future, and he decides we should see what alcohol we have in their drinks cabinet.
Now don't get me wrong, anybody's drinks cabinet is good enough to get you stupendously drunk even if it only has cooking sherry in it. My mate's parents were regular entertainers of local business gentry, so just about every conceivable type of alcoholic beverage was available. Down he sits with a couple of Esso's finest whisky tumblers, and pours a couple of *large* brandies. We both down them, and both agree that was not that bad. Onto the gin, and what feels like an 8 on the Richter scale persuades us to put that bottle away. We're not going to do that again. Then onto the Bailey's. Mmmmmmm how nice was that, we have a couple more.
So slowly but surely we work our way through each and every bottle, checking alcoholic content to make sure we aren't having anything alcohol free. Finally we have polished off what worked out to be 13 generous measures of different spirits, and we decide that the alcohol is kicking in and we should go and get some fresh air.
Anyone will tell you when you are drunk, fresh air always seems like a good idea. When you are sober you know only too well what it actually means is that you get drunk quicker. We decide to go for a walk, and it's at this point that things start to become a little hazy. I remember seeing my mum, with whom I was supposed to be going to the pub with later (it was only about 8 o'clock at this point) and she was quizzing me as to whether I still wanted to go out. I remember both of us running up the hill where I lived to see if we could burn off the alcohol (Yes, I know now!). I finally remembering stumbling down the path in my backgarden and going in through the backdoor, where my mother greets me with, "So had a drink without me, eh?"
Off to bed I went, with a bucket "just in case." Next morning I wake up wondering what has happened. I see the bucket and remember a little bit. I don't remember being sick, so I move the bucket only to find I had taken a (probably much needed) pee into it. I decide it's best if I don't do too much yet, and so I settle back with headphones on and the Art of Noise, Moments in Love and chillout.
My mate didn't get off so lightly. He was in trouble because we'd left the house without keys. He got home to find he couldn't get in, so settled down to wait for his parents on his doorstep. He'd then passed out, and produced rich brown barf all down his left sleeve. His parents return at something A.M. to find their delightful son wrecked and leaning against their frontdoor, which it turned out was on the latch.
Oh course I was a bad influence on him, and it was all my fault.
Still, why not start as I mean to go on.
