Guinness is good for you.........
Topic: levers
Sunday Morning, 6.26am
Ok. This isn’t good. Can two pints of Guinness do this to a person? That’s two Guinness on top of three pints of bitter you understand. I mean, surely I’ve consumed similar quantities before. But here I am, six-thirty in the morning, lying in my bed trying to make sense of it all. Of course this could well be a good introductory piece to a future blog article on the hilarities and pitfalls of getting drunk, of which I have experienced many. The last time I got I drunk on Guinness I seem to recall an apparent need to sleep walk. So maybe this is a similar feeling.
I feel confused. As if I am lacking the sum of all my parts. Like the real me is yet to come back, and the rest is all but a dream. Trapped in a maelstrom of chaos. As if there are parts of me that keep fading out of existence. Even as I write this I feel incomplete. My mind is clouded. That’ll be the alcohol, I tell my self.
The reason I am writing this now is in the hope that it will somehow be able to unpick enough of my consciousness, that it will once again become the dominant voice in my head. It hasn’t happened yet. This is bad.
The last time I was like this, I finally came lucid again due to the coldness of the night air enveloping me. I had taken what I thought to be a routine journey to the toilet, while in my final year at Salford University, staying in the third year flats on Castle Irwell. The toilets were right at the end of the corridor of the flat, and my room was immediately next to the door leading to the stairwell to the other flats in the building and ultimately the outside world. Had I been of sound mind I’d have gone straight back to my room, and the warmth of my bed. Unfortunately, with my mind clouded, I instead had chosen to leave the corridor via the latter door leading to the outside. And so trapped out in the cold, the door back to my flat having slammed shut behind me, I bounded up and down the flight of stairs in my unreal state, until I was able to muster enough conscious matter to work out exactly what was going on. As the coldness of the night crept round me, I eventually realised I was stood outside in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, and was able to summon up enough conscious thought to return to the flat and hammer on the door.
Of course, rather hilariously my housemate Jay opened the door to me thus allowing my re-admittance, shouting “next time, take your f’’king key”
It transpired the next day that he was of the assumption that I had been out gallivanting with a lady in the night, and like all gentlemen who don’t wish to be there for breakfast, left the scene of the crime and returned in ones boxer shorts, of course leaving the rest of ones clothes to be dry cleaned over night, or something.
The coldness doesn’t appeal right now.
How much of me is back now? Not enough. Not enough, that if I close my eyes again I won’t be dragged back to the maelstrom, piece by piece of my being torn asunder.
Believe me, this really isn’t pleasant.
However the bathroom in my current house might be cold enough, allowing me to regain enough of what is me, that I can make it through the night.
Wish me luck.
And no I can’t bring the laptop with me, as even though it’s on a battery it just doesn’t seem right. Besides, the cold and the damp will probably get to it’s circuits and it’ll become as unworkable and confused as I’m feeling right now.
Back in five.
7am.
Of course, I might have gone mad, but then if I am mad then I’m hardly likely to admit to it, so there’s no sure way of knowing. If I am still like this tomorrow, I expect I’ll consider suing the Guinness Corporation for compensation.
How Annie, who will quite happily drink nothing but Guinness whenever she goes out on a session, doesn’t experience the same effect, I don’t know. Then again, maybe she does. Maybe it’s the fate of every Irish person to wake at 6 o’clock in the morning and feel this maddening detachment from reality.
The bathroom wasn’t cold enough as the central heating had come on the timer. Maybe I’ll have to stick my head out the door.
7.10
I haven’t been sick which is a good sign. Especially when you’re sick and don’t quite reach the toilet. Or like on one occasion, don’t get anywhere near it.
Graduation day. I had probably been drinking solidly from the mid-afternoon, in the bars up and down the Bristol waterfront, throwing in a curry for good measure.
I slept the night in a friend’s front room. Sometime during the night I half awoke, took what I thought to be a waste paper bin, and let it all out, beer, curry, and all.
Turned out, it wasn’t a waste paper bin. It was a magazine rack. And my mate’s girlfriend wasn’t overly impressed to come in to the lounge and find vomit amongst the magazines, the papers, the rack, and the floor. Although, to be fair I’d had the decency to make sure the majority of the vomit had ended up plastering the two t-shirts I’d been wearing earlier that day.
Rather than trek home with them on the bus, I chose to deposit them in the nearest bin (that’s bin, not magazine rack), the next morning after leaving my friends flat for the last time, as his girlfriend, rather harshly I feel, opted to ban me from ever setting place in the place again. So I was left to stumble round the streets of Bristol in the cold early morning gloom, kitted out in nothing but a slightly crusty pair of jeans and jumper.
If I’m being honest, I can’t say it came as much of a surprise to find I had actually been banned from staying round my mate’s flat in future, but it came as a bit of a shock to find that offers of space on a lounge or bedroom floor had suddenly become far and few between.
7.20
Might try to sleep again. Fug appears to be lifting.
I slept. I actually did. Though Sunday was still something of a struggle, the Guinness fug failing to lift completely. Do I actually write more intelligently when I’m feeling quite so detached from reality. Or was everything I’d written utter bollocks? Guess we’ll find out when I go through it again next weekend…………….
Note: some heavy editing did take place on the above text, as too be perfectly honest not all of it actually made much sense.
Posted by levers
at 8:03 AM GMT
Posted by levers
at 8:45 PM GMT
