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Monday, June 7

Mmmmm, Drunken Saturday

Did I get drunk at our party on Saturday? Hell, I was drunk before anyone else even turned up!

However, there is absolute justification for such a set of circumstances: football. More specifically, an England game. It does worry me a little just how I'm going to cope when we finally get round to playing a competitive game in Euro 2004, because the last two have just been friendly warm-ups. Yet I still felt the need, the desire to get quite drunk. Go me!

The day of drinking thus started around 3 in the afternoon, in my local pub. A few of my housemates were there with me, and the Stella train was boarded instantly. That would have been an error, in hindsight. Remember how last time I had an afternoon on the Stella train, I ended up walking home with (unbeknownst to me) "cunt" written on my forehead?

Well, that didn't happen this time, thank fuck.

As I cast my memory back to Saturday afternoon, I seem to remember most, if not all, of my housemates leaving during the second half of the game, whereas I stayed until after the final whistle. I'm quite glad I did, to be honest, because a fight broke out pretty much right on the final whistle close to where I was standing.

The first thing I knew about it (I was facing the screen, not the combatants) was the sound of a glass smashing on the floor. I turned round to see a scuffle, and a chair being held above head height, ready to be broken on someone's head. British pubs: brilliant.

The chair didn't in fact get used, which left me somewhere between relieved and disappointed not to see it kick off completely. I whipped out my phone (who thought I was going to say something else then?) to take a couple of pictures, and the results can be seen over at the PhotoBlog. Once again, they are quite poor quality, due to the camera being shit, and also my inability to stand perfectly still (that'd be the alcohol).

Just call me an amateur photojournalist. There was no way that I was going to get involved in any of the action (hey, I didn't know any of them), but I was sure as hell going to record it somehow. Whilst this isn't voyeuristic, there is something very cool about reporting on something that happens without being directly involved.

After that, I think I left the pub and headed home, although I can't remember directly. I must have done this, because the next thing that I do remember is waking up, fully clothed on my bed, just before 10 in the evening. That means I had fallen asleep, yet again, after an afternoon's drinking.

I'm starting to get annoyed with myself for this, because it never used to happen to me. It seems to have crept up on me in the last couple of months, which is not a good thing. I have a reputation to uphold! Or, alternatively, a face to save.

Anyway, I woke up, pretty much stone cold sober again, to find the party just beginning to take off. There weren't huge numbers of people in the living room just yet, but it was a start. I had no alcohol to drink, so I had to nip down to Threshers to grab a bottle of Smirnoff and some coke. I wasn't in the mood for more beer, and nor could I be assed to make difficult drinks all night.

Admittedly, the measures I was giving myself were a little, shall we say, extravagant, which no doubt contributed to my later drunkenness. Well, if you are going to drink vodka-cokes in a pint glass...

The house gradually filled up, but it was still nowhere near as busy as the last couple of parties that we've had. I was thoroughly let down by none of my mates from back home turning up, even though they had promised to come. Gits. Still, I sat around and chatted to a load of other people I knew through my housemates for the entire evening.

No doubt I was talking utter bullshit by the end of it all, but I do remember having a pretty good and in-depth conversation with a few guys about trance music up on the roof at some point. I love "proper" trance music, so long as it isn't pop-influenced, and preferably without any vocals, so I waxed lyrical on that subject for a while.

At some point (I've been told that it was around 4am), I retired to my bed, even though there were still quite a few people in the house. One of my housemates came into my room and took a couple of photos on his phone of me in my boxers, sprawled on top of my covers, limbs all over the place, and utterly passed out.

I was rudely (and I mean rudely) awoken at 5 by another of my housemates, who came into my room with a load of other revellers, turned my stereo on, and had some thumping hard house pounding out at full volume. Not what you need at 5am...

Cue 15 minutes of 10 or so grown men leaping around my bedroom whilst this pounding beat threatened to bring down the walls on top of them. I can only imagine my neighbour's reaction. Apparently, just before this started, my housemate leapt on top of me and then attempted to sweep me up with a broom that was lying around the house, but these are unconfirmed rumours.

After this period of action, I was completely awake, and sober once more. Funny how an hour or so's nap can do that to you. Matt and a few other guys were still in the kitchen, chatting about shit, so I went and joined them for a bit.

I grabbed some toast and about 3 pints of water, when Matt produced a punchbag and some boxing gloves from god-knows-where. Everyone had a go, both at punching and holding the bag, which took up another half-hour or so.

It's really quite difficult to hold a punchbag properly, when someone who is stronger than you is hitting it with all their might. During my go with the gloves, I found that I have absolutely no jabbing ability, but can swing a half-decent hook with either fist. Not bad for someone who really hasn't thrown a punch in anger for 6 or 7 years...

I tried to go back to bed, but the adrenaline was pumping through my system after that little workout, which made it very difficult to fall asleep. Eventually I dropped off, and didn't wake again until gone 3 in the afternoon.

Yes, 3 in the afternoon.

And yes, I am an incredibly lazy bastard. I know this.

The hangover was practically non-existent, although the lack of energy quickly became apparent, along with an ever-present dull ache in my legs. I seem to get that a lot at the moment: no true hangover, but achy legs. To be honest, I'll take achy legs over an achy head any day of the week.

The house wasn't in as much of a state as I'd anticipated, probably due to the smaller number of attendees than I'd been expecting. This isn't to say that it was anywhere near being clean or tidy, definitely not. None of us were up for doing any cleaning work yesterday, what with hangovers and tiredness, so we left it until today (Monday).

The rest of Sunday, from what I can remember, was spent in front of the TV, watching some tennis, the D-Day ceremonies and that fantastic D-Day programme on BBC1 in the evening. The Beeb always excels itself with this kind of programme / event, and I feel very proud for it to be an institution of my country.

Even if it did commit the mortal sin of introducing Linda fucking Barker to the nation's screens.


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