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Thursday, 29 March 2012

Don't drink and read Auras

It seemed like such a good idea last night, but so often instant decisions which stem from a half-baked idea. It started with a large glass of sherry, it was all we had in the house. Patrick poured most of a bottle of Harvey's Bristol Creme between two grubby tumblers and offered me one. I normally loathe Sherry but the way I felt last night I would have drank anything to numb the pain. The Sherry went down very quickly and to my head almost immediately. Patrick took longer than me to finish his drink, as the last of the liquid slid down his throat a determined look appeared in his eye then suggested that we go out for a few drinks. Stupidly, I agreed. Less than ten minutes later we were in a noisy bar near the seafront drinking Guinness. This was the start of a heavy couple of hours, many pints of Guinness later we found ourselves in a very loud, busy and boisterous. By this time I was feeling a little drunk. OK, I was more than a little drunk, I was very drunk. Patrick has an enormous capacity for alcohol, this is linked to his heritage, which I will not go into at this point. I remember staggering into the toilets, I may have knocked over a few drinks on the way but as my memory is hazy I could have convinced myself that this was the case.

I leant forward with my head resting on the wall as I noisily released my stream, sighing in relief. I then registered that, not only was the toilet full, there was a queue. I also noticed that the young, wiry and notably less drunk, using the urinal next to me glowed with a blue glow. For some inexplicable reason I made eye contact and muttered:
'From the sea then mate?' It was more of a slurred series of syllables than a coherent sentence.
'You what?' He asked.
'You're a sea being mate, I can see it.' For some reason he took offence to this. I saw bright lights and a flash of blue. I heard the 'C' bomb dropped and realised I had been too. I lay in a puddle of piss and blood for a few seconds before I was picked up Patrick.
'What the fuck have you been playing at matey?' He intoned as he dragged me out of the pub onto the windy, cold street. I remember thinking how sober Patrick appeared, well, sober compared to me anyway.
'That's the last time I take you out on the piss.' He chuckled as we lurched towards home.

Patrick was somewhat cold towards this morning but later he thawed and accepted that there was no harm done. I am ducking the issue, I need to get in touch with my erstwhile colleague from Flower's Barrow and find out about the replacement operation.

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