Try crossing that after a few too many!
Waking in a mad dash with a forthcoming jet of piss at that painful point of no return. I was REALLY wasted last night and now as I fumble with this jarred zip I wonder if there is a worse place to let loose than in a tiny tent containing all your worldly belongings for the foreseeable future. I try the other zip and with its opening on first try I´m presented with the sight of one solitary, soggy looking boot..(?).. I had two of those before.
Struggling with my memory and the clues presented to me as I make my way to the main house where I´ll prepare some breakfast and perhaps find my phone, I pass my only pair of trousers lying dirty and soaking wet on the ground. This makes me wonder if I really want to know and when I find my fleece jacket close by in similar condition I decide probably not.
As per the norm, once you´ve made up your mind that you don´t want to remember, your memory starts to kick back.
“More wine, why not”?
Stagger, stumble, SPLASH!
Later on I´m informed more and this does help immensely combined with the wearing off of my self-induced headache.
Turns out I did actually make it across that tiny piece of wood we call a bridge that doubles up as an impregnable obstacle on the way to my tent. Not even my tent really which would have made it all the more harrowing/funny if I hadn´t got that zip open in time!
So I made it across I´m told then stumbled back a little and fell a fucker into the water below.
I remember now. I remember sitting laughing so hard as I sat soaking wet after being lifted out by Clement –French guy who´s come to visit for a few weeks-. Haven´t laughed so hard in a long, long time and understandably so did he. Maybe not aware of my missing phone and boot or maybe during the moment this actually just adds to how funny it all is, but fuck did we laugh!
“Getting you out the first time was easy, but the second..”
Wait, I fell in again!?
“No.. You went back in to get your phone.”
Two days my phone and boot lived at the bottom of that water and with this being a delta wherein the water levels are lowered and raised dramatically due to wind direction then I guess I should really count myself lucky that there was water down there that night to break my fall, but I can´t wait any longer though and so in I go one more time for a thorough search and whadaya know? I found my phone!
Are you a believer in miracles? Do you want to guess what happened? Does my phone still work? Does it fuck, it was submerged in water and sludge for two days. I can see water floating behind the screen however.. The SD card survived! My SD card that held about two thousand photos and videos. Time to buy a USB card and save that shit. Sooo fucking happy to get it all back. Took around two weeks for my boot, once found, to get back to being wearable again and spent the next week drying my jacket and trousers but from what I hear it was one damned fine night on the Delta.
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There are a few moments in life I’ve skipped past while sharing my life. Either because it’s too similar to something previous that’s been mentioned like the time I wiped my ass on the bathroom towel and then hung it back up on the rack. Got in shit for that, pardon the pun. –I was four!-
College moments I just couldn’t squeeze in like the time I handed an essay mostly covering the topic of masturbation and a book report on Humpty Dumpty. I wasn’t there the day my teacher received this news from the exam board, but I heard he wanted to slap me for that. Still got the chance to do it again and I’m sure it’s probably out there doing the rounds as an example of what not to do if you want to pass Core 2 English.
Or simply because there is nothing really funny about having to wear a jumper on Christmas Day to hide the bruising left behind from a needles puncture wound.
And so, after thinking long and hard about whether it’s a good idea to bring out possibly the ugliest of all skeletons from my closet as I know what a touchy subject this can be.. I think, fuck it. This is my story, my life and if it wasn’t for this pretty harrowing series of events then I’d still be a virgin.
Write your complaints on a postcard and then stick it up your arse!
. . .
It was around my 18th birthday, year 2000 I believe and I succeeded in bringing one larger than life drunk chick back to my bed. Trouble is I was pretty wasted myself.
Five minutes in and I’m on my way down stairs to the toilet after throwing up on her tits and I can’t really say I’m completely surprised or bothered when I return to find she’s no longer there. However, one thing hangs heavy on my mind. That was my first sexual experience and I fucked it up. How to recover? Fret not, for I have a plan!
As my bus draws closer to my planned destination my stomach turns to nerves. “What if this doesn’t work? What if I’m not right down there”? I know just the thing for this kind of nonsense. The cause and solution to all life’s problems: Beer.
Not just beer but whisky as it would become. I fill up on Dutch courage before strutting into the massage parlour where young Casanova here plans to make up for lost time, but would you believe? I’m too drunk and I can’t get it up! Not only that embarrassment but I also left my glasses there and have to trot back and get them. I return home a disgrace to mankind and completely in turmoil. But I’m not done yet.
The waiting game.
This time I go almost a week without ‘relief’ which to an 18 year old is deserving of a fucking medal but a dead cert not to fail. A strong wind could empty my balls this time but just to make sure I decide on a change of venue for this time around.
Sitting sober as a monkey in this horrible little room wearing nothing but a small towel around my waist, I’m asked to choose between three scabby, junky hags. Just then and angel appears in the form of a foreign, chicken eating angel in the midst of her lunch and wandering into my line of sight at exactly the wrong moment.
Paying for one hour and only really needing three minutes –hey, I was 18- but I’m in the clear now as I now know that everything working and hearing words like “You strong like bull” really does give me some encouragement. She really said that!
I decide to return to this naughty little maid, just to make sure, only to be given the most noisy bed on Gods Earth putting us both off more than a little not to mention a kids voice on the other side of the door shouting “Dad”! Who the fuck brings their kids here?!
. . .
With the years clocking up towards that milestone of 30, I find myself looking back at the big picture. I never once ticked any of those boxes that some regard as the checklist of life..
Education (didn’t go to college to learn!)
And that’s exactly why I’ve been really able to live life, at least in a way that works for me anyway. Who wants to be the richest man in the graveyard? Who wants a life time of tip-toeing around and bending over backwards to be just another baw hair on the baw bag? Fuck that. If I stumble across an idea for something, maybe a project or just an adventure, then I’ll save the money and do it. Sure I’ll listen to advice because not every idea is a good one but not once have I ever regretted where I’ve ended up. It’s been such a fucked up, crazy adventure and it’s not over by a long shot. In-fact, I’d say it’s only just begun.
On my last little adventure before turning 30, I spoke with a very interesting girl who really woke me up. I learned that my jokes and stories are sometimes not enough and it’s too easy to just hide behind them all never really showing the real you. For probably the first time in my life I actually managed to just let go and say what was on my mind. It wasn’t easy but I learned a lot right there and then. So I will be me from now on regardless of how hot someone is or how much I care for them. The laughs will still come and the madness continue but on a higher, much better level now that we’re done with the act and to be honest.. I never much cared for being the clown.
To whatever awaits around that next corner I’ll take it on with a new found stride.
Time to grow up?
Remember, I’m not always proud of what I’ve done. Just honest about it.
To my darling sister. Thanks for that early supply of vodka.. Ye big shitbag!
Four cans of piss and a small bottle of fire water. It might as well have been because that’s what it tastes like. My first time getting drunk and with my cider and vodka at the ready I suppose I could have done a lot worse.
At the ripe old age of twelve my friends and I decide we’ve waited long enough. It’s time to be cool. It’s time to get drunk.
We’re the kids who smoke on the corner of your street, drink cheap cider, avoid school like the plague and whose future depends on our ability to say one thing.” Would you like fries with that Sir”?
I’m gonna cruise through life without a care in the world because I watched Scarface last-night and I know I’m gonna be some mega rich drug lord laughing in the face of the law while my bitches line up to take a slap. It’s gonna be a breeze just as long as I can avoid the monsters beneath my bed and my Mums right hand.
We sip at our warm cider like its some exotic wine to be savoured slowly while we discuss how cool we are and pass around the Autumn edition of the Argos Catalogue opened at the lady’s under-wear section deciding on which one’s the best shag.
It’s like pass the parcel with our vodka which has been watered down to juice. None of us want it yet we love it so much.”Mmmm.. This tastes great, try this”. We say as we try our best to get rid of it. We leave our vodka and PlayStation behind and go for some fresh air.. A smoke.
After chain smoking ten cigarettes each we make our excuse to leave. Our baths are ready or its tea time. We’ve all decided that salt n’ vinegar crisps disguise the smell of beer and fags, so we should be OK. After all, the truth is whatever you want it to be. I’m not convinced.
Sneaking into my house at the late hour of nine thirty I tip-toe towards the toilet while the world around me spins. Tonight I’m Rambo on a secret mission to take a piss and sneak into bed without anyone noticing I’m drunk. Awoken In the early hours of the morning by my Dad I’m given numerous tasks to perform, hover the house, wash the dishes, weed the garden, clean my room are just the start.
I slither my way down the stairs and open the bathroom door. “What happened to the carpet?” I ask my sister. I’m told in disturbing detail that after my elephant like entrance the night before I’d been found by my Mum lying face down in vomit with my pants around my ankles still in the process of having a shit. Clearly I was in the dog house and not feeling so cool anymore.
I’ve since learnt my lesson.. Is something I’d like to say at this moment, but as this blog will soon show, I’m a very slow learner.