Back in Black
Friday night was an enjoyable romp, and my return foray into the world of alcohol.
The party featured a small fire in a modestly sized drum in the backyard, and had the beast been any bigger than that I swear we would have all died a fiery death. There’s something about fire at parties that brings out the primal side in people, and people could not stop fucking with the damn thing. There was the “expert” stacking different combinations of wood for optimum warmth, somebody else decided to dump the entire contents of the recycling bin onto the fire, another guy tried to get the flames as high as possible to burn through a plastic clothes line situated near the fire (a goal he had set himself). For reasons unclear to me, somebody else started hitting the fire with a metal pole for about five minutes, as people watched in awe at the sparks flying about.
The drum holding the fire fell over at least a dozen times, but each time we scooped it back up, and continued our fireside banter, at one point even toasting marshmallows. There was four of us who stood there for most of the night mesmerized by the fire, not leaving it even though it was raining, and the smoke was becoming eye-wateringly unbearable. I was guzzling my way through a carton of Cooper’s Pale Ale, feeling the beers going to my head after the month off. I knew I was probably drinking too fast, but found I couldn’t slow my pace down – the dry patch had seemingly made me forget my limits. By midnight, I was sitting on a couch on the porch suitably smashed and trying my hardest to hold civil conversations with the various characters I had met.
It was at about this time Will came over to get my attention – I looked up to see him and one of his mates standing over me grinning like Hyenas holding shovels. ”Wanna come on a mission?” Will asked me, and of course when you find yourself getting asked a question like that at midnight in the pouring rain, the only answer is a resounding “Why yes, yes I do.”
I grabbed a roadie and followed Will and his mate (I was never properly introduced to this guy, so don’t know his name) up the road. The guys decided to run, so I tried my hardest to keep up, sipping a beer and jogging in the rain, wondering where on Earth we were going at this hour with shovels. As it turned out, Will’s old house was only a few blocks up the road and our “mission” was to sneak into the backyard and dig up some Shrooms Will had been growing there, and to relocate them to his new garden. It was all kind of exciting, though my imagination had been running wild on the journey thinking we may be heading off to go grave robbing – I was equally parts relieved/disappointed that this was not the case.
With a plastic bag full of mushrooms, we started our journey home, once again the guys broke into a run to cut the journey time. I found on the return my stamina had dwindled, and my run devolved into a jog, which devolved into a slow limp. A combination of my slower pace and the darkness meant that I lost sight of the guys after a few minutes, and then became completely disoriented as to where I was. I spent the next fifteen minutes wandering around the Eastern suburbs in the pissing rain trying to locate Will’s house (somebody had snapped all of the closest street signs off which definitely didn’t help my predicament). I had almost given up hope and was about to head home, when a car pulled up next to me and the driver (Will’s shroom raiding pal) pointed me in the direction of the party.
A few more beers, a few more fireside chats, and eventually the party dwindled down to just Will and myself. We departed to the house where Will taught me the game of Carom (which I sucked at), followed by a few games of Dr Mario (which I kicked ass at). I hit the spare bed at about 5am.
After my 25 day dry spell I had almost forgotten the ugly uselessness of a decent hangover, but at noon today it all came flooding back. It wasn’t one of my worst hangovers by a long shot, but the nausea and head ache were strong enough to leave me in a worthless state. I dozed in and out of sleep, hearing various people who come round the house to say hi to Will. I didn’t get up until 5pm.
Now I am back home and it is 6pm, I have showered and had a coffee which certainly helps, and I have about an hour before I have to be at the Irish pub down the road for my sister’s birthday dinner. It will no doubt be a late one, followed by another sleep in, and then the purchase of another carton of beer for the Sunday DVD session with the lads.
Welcome back to the boozy weekender. God help us all.
The party featured a small fire in a modestly sized drum in the backyard, and had the beast been any bigger than that I swear we would have all died a fiery death. There’s something about fire at parties that brings out the primal side in people, and people could not stop fucking with the damn thing. There was the “expert” stacking different combinations of wood for optimum warmth, somebody else decided to dump the entire contents of the recycling bin onto the fire, another guy tried to get the flames as high as possible to burn through a plastic clothes line situated near the fire (a goal he had set himself). For reasons unclear to me, somebody else started hitting the fire with a metal pole for about five minutes, as people watched in awe at the sparks flying about.
The drum holding the fire fell over at least a dozen times, but each time we scooped it back up, and continued our fireside banter, at one point even toasting marshmallows. There was four of us who stood there for most of the night mesmerized by the fire, not leaving it even though it was raining, and the smoke was becoming eye-wateringly unbearable. I was guzzling my way through a carton of Cooper’s Pale Ale, feeling the beers going to my head after the month off. I knew I was probably drinking too fast, but found I couldn’t slow my pace down – the dry patch had seemingly made me forget my limits. By midnight, I was sitting on a couch on the porch suitably smashed and trying my hardest to hold civil conversations with the various characters I had met.
It was at about this time Will came over to get my attention – I looked up to see him and one of his mates standing over me grinning like Hyenas holding shovels. ”Wanna come on a mission?” Will asked me, and of course when you find yourself getting asked a question like that at midnight in the pouring rain, the only answer is a resounding “Why yes, yes I do.”
I grabbed a roadie and followed Will and his mate (I was never properly introduced to this guy, so don’t know his name) up the road. The guys decided to run, so I tried my hardest to keep up, sipping a beer and jogging in the rain, wondering where on Earth we were going at this hour with shovels. As it turned out, Will’s old house was only a few blocks up the road and our “mission” was to sneak into the backyard and dig up some Shrooms Will had been growing there, and to relocate them to his new garden. It was all kind of exciting, though my imagination had been running wild on the journey thinking we may be heading off to go grave robbing – I was equally parts relieved/disappointed that this was not the case.
With a plastic bag full of mushrooms, we started our journey home, once again the guys broke into a run to cut the journey time. I found on the return my stamina had dwindled, and my run devolved into a jog, which devolved into a slow limp. A combination of my slower pace and the darkness meant that I lost sight of the guys after a few minutes, and then became completely disoriented as to where I was. I spent the next fifteen minutes wandering around the Eastern suburbs in the pissing rain trying to locate Will’s house (somebody had snapped all of the closest street signs off which definitely didn’t help my predicament). I had almost given up hope and was about to head home, when a car pulled up next to me and the driver (Will’s shroom raiding pal) pointed me in the direction of the party.
A few more beers, a few more fireside chats, and eventually the party dwindled down to just Will and myself. We departed to the house where Will taught me the game of Carom (which I sucked at), followed by a few games of Dr Mario (which I kicked ass at). I hit the spare bed at about 5am.
After my 25 day dry spell I had almost forgotten the ugly uselessness of a decent hangover, but at noon today it all came flooding back. It wasn’t one of my worst hangovers by a long shot, but the nausea and head ache were strong enough to leave me in a worthless state. I dozed in and out of sleep, hearing various people who come round the house to say hi to Will. I didn’t get up until 5pm.
Now I am back home and it is 6pm, I have showered and had a coffee which certainly helps, and I have about an hour before I have to be at the Irish pub down the road for my sister’s birthday dinner. It will no doubt be a late one, followed by another sleep in, and then the purchase of another carton of beer for the Sunday DVD session with the lads.
Welcome back to the boozy weekender. God help us all.
posted by Beef at Sunday, May 17, 2009
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