'We're having a movie night!' said Dave, a couple of evenings ago. He was having some friends round and they were watching Gay Films - one called Camp, and another called Another Gay Movie. Me and Frances were invited, he said, and there would be plenty of alcohol and snacks. So I decided to join them.
Well, Camp, from what I can remember, is a great film. Very funny! And everyone laughed. I just can't remember much of it, because by then i'd finished off half a bottle of Bacardi I had lying around, had a glass of rosé - my first ever - and Rich had come round and suggested we go to the pub. So, we went to The Castle, our local. It was a Friday night, and so pretty busy. I've discovered that I, with the addition of either Bacardi or wine, or both, become the leeriest man in Aberystwyth. I was too shy to actually talk to anybody female, but I deemed everyone in the pub and everyone who walked through the door a potential candidate for evaluation. Me and Rich also talked about a lot of shit, and we had a deep conversation about hair styling products and which is the best out of gum, paste, and wax. Somebody save me.
I had four Jack Daniel's. Or that could be five, I don't entirely remember. When I got back, the second film was half - way through, but nobody was paying it that much attention, because of the amount of Pringles and sweets being passed around the room and the oodles of gossip and insults being slung. 'Want some vodka, Mike?' Dave asked as I stumbled back into the room.
'Yes! Yes I do!'
And so he offered me a can of coke to go with it. I hasten to add, at this point, that if i'm going to technically classify my next drink, it should be called Coke with Vodka, rather than the more traditional, and usual, classification. I drunk that, ate some more pringles. We then had some shots of Nordic Berry vodka, that's blue and very nice, then I had a glass of squash with more vodka in. We decided that drawing would be a good idea, and I think I drew a penis. And some boobies. I'm sure the Tate Modern would be interested.
The night drew to a close then: Dave's friend got upset, and they all went home, and everyone (even the upset friend) agreed it was a great night. Dave also let me have his big mug that was very full of more Coke and Vodka, which I drunk as I went on the computer. Sometime around here I decided that to stay up all night playing Burnout and chatting on MSN would be a good plan, and so that's exactly what I did.
Burnout is fantastic. It's a racing game that's stupidly, eye-bleedingly quick, and rewards you for skillfull driving that pushes you to the very startling edge of your abilities, but will punish you the second you overstep the boundary and disintegrate your multi-million pound supercar between a bus and a 18-wheel lorry. Sometimes it even rewards driving into cars and creating havoc. I found that i'm much better at the game when i'm very, very drunk, unusually.
By 6am, an hour that I hadn't seen for literally months, it was getting light. It was amazing how quickly it did get light. By half six, it was daylight, but Aberystwyth still slept. By 10am, when I went for a shower, it was obvious that I was still hammered. I barely noticed when I collided with a doorframe on the way, but I did notice the bruise later. By eleven, my hangover had kicked in, together with the crippling tiredness after not sleeping. I was reading magazines and not registering a word, and having to squint through one eye to see what people were typing on the computer. I napped, for about half an hour.
By now, the realisation had come to me: I was, apparently, both drunk and hungover at the same time. My body was utterly depleted from energy due to lack of sleep, and the fact that I hadn't eaten a hot meal since being at home the previous weekend. My hands were shaking, I felt cold, and my eyes were coated with stinging, hot resistance to my attempts to keep them open. I knew there was football on, and I phoned Chris, who was upstairs, to see if he wanted to go watch, so I could gulp down coke and eat food and try and recoup as much energy as possible. When he came into the room to collect me, he just burst out laughing at my slumped-over self.
The food revived me. Sugar seeped into every vein, and I felt marginally better. I still, however, was pretty out of it. I have pretty standard, pretty hazy memories for the drunk portion of the.. I can't really say night because it went on longer than that.. the episode . I remember wobbling my way out of the flat and struggling down the snooker hall like a paraplegic who had a wheelchair with one wheel removed. I slumped to eat my food, barely aware of the football, reading the weekend papers but not taking anything in. I thought, in my drunken stupidity, that by harnessing the powers of alcohol and the semi-conscious state of sleep deprivity, I would zoom myself in a zone of unbridled and unrestricted creativity where prize-winning literature would flow from my fingers like wine from Jesus' water jug.
I was a vegetable.
So, I don't think I'll be doing that again. By ten last night, I was getting into bed, and I settled down for a totally uninterrupted eleven hours, which was absolute bliss. I woke up, a new day, totally and utterly refreshed, and it was sunday. On TV that morning, they made Chocolate Brownie with Marshmallow sauce. Me and Chris are going to make that next, because it looked like the peak of human confectionary: sweet food's concorde moment. We watched the Carling Cup final and played pool, I actually beat him! And we just went to the pub to watch Top Gear, which was fantastic - one of the better episode i've seen, which is quite a feat as they're normally so good.
And here I am. This entry was going to lead into a review of 2 new cd's i've recently bought - Fall Out Boy's Infinity On High and Mika's Life in Cartoon Motion, but that blatantly hasn't happened, so I'll just say that Mika's record is consistently great, all the way through: happy optomisto-pop. Fall Out Boy's is longer but patchier: moments of greatness mixed (in this case by Neil Avron and Babyface) with spots of mediocre, anonymous emo. Fourth song I'm a Lawyer With the Way... has boyband backing vocals that N*Sync, in their heyday, wouldn't have turned down. It is longer than Mika, most definately listenable. Both albums are, most definately, great. I'll let you all get on now!
Well, Camp, from what I can remember, is a great film. Very funny! And everyone laughed. I just can't remember much of it, because by then i'd finished off half a bottle of Bacardi I had lying around, had a glass of rosé - my first ever - and Rich had come round and suggested we go to the pub. So, we went to The Castle, our local. It was a Friday night, and so pretty busy. I've discovered that I, with the addition of either Bacardi or wine, or both, become the leeriest man in Aberystwyth. I was too shy to actually talk to anybody female, but I deemed everyone in the pub and everyone who walked through the door a potential candidate for evaluation. Me and Rich also talked about a lot of shit, and we had a deep conversation about hair styling products and which is the best out of gum, paste, and wax. Somebody save me.
I had four Jack Daniel's. Or that could be five, I don't entirely remember. When I got back, the second film was half - way through, but nobody was paying it that much attention, because of the amount of Pringles and sweets being passed around the room and the oodles of gossip and insults being slung. 'Want some vodka, Mike?' Dave asked as I stumbled back into the room.
'Yes! Yes I do!'
And so he offered me a can of coke to go with it. I hasten to add, at this point, that if i'm going to technically classify my next drink, it should be called Coke with Vodka, rather than the more traditional, and usual, classification. I drunk that, ate some more pringles. We then had some shots of Nordic Berry vodka, that's blue and very nice, then I had a glass of squash with more vodka in. We decided that drawing would be a good idea, and I think I drew a penis. And some boobies. I'm sure the Tate Modern would be interested.
The night drew to a close then: Dave's friend got upset, and they all went home, and everyone (even the upset friend) agreed it was a great night. Dave also let me have his big mug that was very full of more Coke and Vodka, which I drunk as I went on the computer. Sometime around here I decided that to stay up all night playing Burnout and chatting on MSN would be a good plan, and so that's exactly what I did.
Burnout is fantastic. It's a racing game that's stupidly, eye-bleedingly quick, and rewards you for skillfull driving that pushes you to the very startling edge of your abilities, but will punish you the second you overstep the boundary and disintegrate your multi-million pound supercar between a bus and a 18-wheel lorry. Sometimes it even rewards driving into cars and creating havoc. I found that i'm much better at the game when i'm very, very drunk, unusually.
By 6am, an hour that I hadn't seen for literally months, it was getting light. It was amazing how quickly it did get light. By half six, it was daylight, but Aberystwyth still slept. By 10am, when I went for a shower, it was obvious that I was still hammered. I barely noticed when I collided with a doorframe on the way, but I did notice the bruise later. By eleven, my hangover had kicked in, together with the crippling tiredness after not sleeping. I was reading magazines and not registering a word, and having to squint through one eye to see what people were typing on the computer. I napped, for about half an hour.
By now, the realisation had come to me: I was, apparently, both drunk and hungover at the same time. My body was utterly depleted from energy due to lack of sleep, and the fact that I hadn't eaten a hot meal since being at home the previous weekend. My hands were shaking, I felt cold, and my eyes were coated with stinging, hot resistance to my attempts to keep them open. I knew there was football on, and I phoned Chris, who was upstairs, to see if he wanted to go watch, so I could gulp down coke and eat food and try and recoup as much energy as possible. When he came into the room to collect me, he just burst out laughing at my slumped-over self.
The food revived me. Sugar seeped into every vein, and I felt marginally better. I still, however, was pretty out of it. I have pretty standard, pretty hazy memories for the drunk portion of the.. I can't really say night because it went on longer than that.. the episode . I remember wobbling my way out of the flat and struggling down the snooker hall like a paraplegic who had a wheelchair with one wheel removed. I slumped to eat my food, barely aware of the football, reading the weekend papers but not taking anything in. I thought, in my drunken stupidity, that by harnessing the powers of alcohol and the semi-conscious state of sleep deprivity, I would zoom myself in a zone of unbridled and unrestricted creativity where prize-winning literature would flow from my fingers like wine from Jesus' water jug.
I was a vegetable.
So, I don't think I'll be doing that again. By ten last night, I was getting into bed, and I settled down for a totally uninterrupted eleven hours, which was absolute bliss. I woke up, a new day, totally and utterly refreshed, and it was sunday. On TV that morning, they made Chocolate Brownie with Marshmallow sauce. Me and Chris are going to make that next, because it looked like the peak of human confectionary: sweet food's concorde moment. We watched the Carling Cup final and played pool, I actually beat him! And we just went to the pub to watch Top Gear, which was fantastic - one of the better episode i've seen, which is quite a feat as they're normally so good.
And here I am. This entry was going to lead into a review of 2 new cd's i've recently bought - Fall Out Boy's Infinity On High and Mika's Life in Cartoon Motion, but that blatantly hasn't happened, so I'll just say that Mika's record is consistently great, all the way through: happy optomisto-pop. Fall Out Boy's is longer but patchier: moments of greatness mixed (in this case by Neil Avron and Babyface) with spots of mediocre, anonymous emo. Fourth song I'm a Lawyer With the Way... has boyband backing vocals that N*Sync, in their heyday, wouldn't have turned down. It is longer than Mika, most definately listenable. Both albums are, most definately, great. I'll let you all get on now!
1 comment:
The alcohol pwned yu0 hard.
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