Been there, done that

Saturday sees me get the train to Dublin, where the girls are so ...well, ugly actually. Most of them. If I were a U.S. political candidate my campaign would now be over, but as I'm not and I live on this moist sod of Atlantic turf I think I can say whatever the fuck I want, within reason.

The reason for my visit isn't girls anyway, it's the Ireland vs England rugby match. For those of you with little knowledge of rugby it's what American football was based on except it's not played with cissy helmets and headgear.


Foolhardy or cheapskates, you decide. Anyway, it's arranged through work, I'm taking 2 corporate guests who get the full corporate entertainment package £400/$800 worth plus hotel drink and transport. There's no room in the budget for me to actually attend the bloody (and it will be) match so I'll have to pick a Dublin bar and watch it on t.v. through a pint of Guinness. I lived in Dublin 20 odd years ago, it's changed much, the economy has grown from a poor 2nd world economy through the "Celtic Tiger" years and is now overheating. Drink costs a fuckin' fortune, I'll get a receipt, Coke is the hedonistic high of choice, and 1 in 5 people in the city are immigrants, mostly Poles and Nigerians and it's now an Irish caricature of itself.

Regular readers will know that me, work and drink seldom (read never) go well together. I dread to think what the weekend will bring. One thing's for sure, men playing with odd shaped balls will be the least of my worries.

2 what-ifs, no weddings and (nearly) a funeral

A forty-eight hour trip to London is hazardous to your health. Life threatening even. Let me explain.

It all started when I was driving to the airport. I was just in the process of turning off a roundabout to throw my car into a private car park opposite the airport when a bus bombed through without seeing me. I managed to get stopped just in time. Had I assumed he would've/should've seen me I'd have had 17 tons of metal to play with. I think it's safe to say I might have got hurt. Thirty seconds later I'm dropping my keys off and contemplating the what ifs. That lasts for most of my journey.
Five and a half hours later I emerge from the Tube network to commence my two days in London. I'm getting better at it. Not afraid to get the bus now. Know how to get to some places. Well, as long as some kindly soul has given me chapter and verse on the directions/changes etc. but the guy I usually go over to see lives on a main bus route. It's a piece of piss and bus stops are right outside his front door. So, a quick freshen up and off we go. Pills and drink. Drink and pills. Three hours a night sleep but only if absolutely necessary. Plenty of craic. Visits to illegal 24 hours off-licences, you know how it goes.

Fast forward. Return trip home. Flight delayed. Flight takes off and gets to within 3 minutes and 1000 feet of landing. Pilot applies full throttle and sends us sharply skyward again. He bing-bongs to tell us that "we" have a problem with the brakes. He fancies flying around for a bit "to do some tests" (like Mr T used to say "I ain't no fool", he's going to dry off his seat, calm himself the fuck down and try to take us in again when 1./ he's stopped shaking 2./ the fire appliances have been scrambled 3./ we have less burny liquids on board). It gave me my 2nd what if moment of the weekend. As I'd already done my homework on Friday I settled down to scrolling through my MP3 player for what might be my last song - a nine minute version of How soon is now by The Smiths.

So despite my best efforts,the efforts of bus drivers and aeroplane captains, I'm still here. Well, for another week anyway.

Short

Spent this week trying to cough my lungs inside out. Nearly succeeded.

Still off the smokes. Want one badly (purely medicinal to help the cough).

London calling

Next weekend I'm popping over to see a friend and help him celebrate his birthday. I've been quite a few times over the years, seldom lately though. My current job was supposed to take me to London on a regular basis but that never materialised and the city's still a big mystery to me. I had intended to meet a fellow blogger (now ex blogger) last year but couldn't get a date organised that suited for work and childcare etc. Anyway, I'd probably have made an arse of myself. Back to London. If I move around it in daylight, with a map and plenty of time I can manage to get lost only once every 30 minutes or so. A proper result. Don't ask me which Tube stations link with other lines and stuff like that. As I'm colour blind the Tube map makes no sense to me. It's like spaghetti with name tags. Buy a day ticket and be loose on meeting times. That's the way to do it. For most places public transport is quite good, though can be slow, slower if you get the wrong Tube or bus. Essential if you're injured. Last time I was there I was in Camberwell and the three of us who were meeting stood at a bar like a human three legged stool and, without moving for six hours, talked bollocks to each other while drinking double vodkas with shot chasers. Needless to say I acquired an injury on the walk home from the bar. So next weekend when you're drawing the curtains and turning out the lights think of me and my walnut sized liver fruitlessly trying to process drugs and alcohol at a rate that will keep me out of hospital.

Stop

I've done this many times. Stop. Start again. Repeat ad nauseam. Every time I restart I wonder why. One always leads to another. I can get addicted to anything. I'm quite sure if all there was in the world was air and water I'd get addicted to them instead. This time I have to make it stick though. It's making me look old (good god, I've realised I am vain), making me unhealthy, making me smell and I don't want my daughter to associate me with the smell of a stale cigarette though she never sees me smoking ( I hope she isn't imprinted already but fear it might be too late). I'm not even worried about the money. I used to be so fit. Seven miles over hills in 36 minutes. 140 sits ups in one sitting. Two minutes of anything now would place me uncomfortably close to my maker. So 60 hours ago the last Marlboro red was tossed away (after a good toke). No-one's dead and nothing of any real value is broke. But I could kill for a piece of nasty tasting gum.

Don't do this

There are things in life one just shouldn't do. No ifs or buts, they're just not clever. I'm not saying I've done any of these but take it from me that I have it on good authority that the following are NOT recommended.

1. drinking Guinness whilst entertaining someone of the opposite sex. It's o.k. if you stop at 2 but if you drink on or if your meal is particularly rich or mix it with a quality Merlot..... well, let's just say have your excuse ready for later on. Or make sure your coat is handy. If they'd been able to mass produce that noxious gas during WW1 think how many lives would have been saved.

2. lighting a cigarette from a camp-fire. I know it'll seem cool and avoid the problem of having to find who's nabbed your lighter or fight the slightest of breezes to ignite your cancer stick of choice but you'll only succeed in giving yourself male pattern baldness in 2 seconds flat. And your eyelashes and eyebrows will look just a tad silly when reduced to black shrivelled stubs.

3. falling asleep after sex only to awake in excruciating groinal pain due a condom still being in place, wanger, for the first time, as big as a baseball bat but having the appearance of the most massive blood blister you can imagine. Not a good look.

pure

Pure Monty
4 carrots (washed & topped)
1 large banana
100ml (4oz) pure orange (not sweetened or strained)
1/4 peeled cucumber
1 thin slice fresh ginger
1/2 cup of ice

Blend until smooth - enough for 2 glasses

You see, I went to a restaurant today with a client, ordered my pint of diet Croke only to be be smiled at (by a very healthy looking waitress - the sort that would smell nice after sex) and told that "it's only healthy food that we serve here". I was about to make a tit of myself by clarifying that I had in fact asked for "diet" when I came to my senses, all of a sudden realising that she didn't have that relaxed aura of inner and outer well-being from consuming large amounts of caffeine, E-numbers and preservatives. I had a lovely organic steak sandwich on home made ciabatta with a Mediterranean herb leaf salad washed down with the only carbonated drink they served, a home-made lemonade made with real lemons (gasp) and the milk from 1000 free range albino hummingbirds or something like that. Well. I felt sooo good this afternoon I thought to myself "That's it, my body is a temple. No more shall poison pass my lips (unless the poison bottle is labelled Merlot or Bisongrass or comes from a packet saying Marlboro)." And that's why you're going to try my health drink recipe.

For the record I'm about 13 stone (14 lbs in a stone) and should be 11 or so. There's no other way to deal with this, it just has to be head on which means I'm going all the way.

And so it came to pass that he picked up and started to read Gillian McKeith's "You are what you eat". (For the U.S. or Canadian reader she's like a Scottish Nanny McPhee with the goodness sucked out, has no neck and legs that are frankly too long for someone that small, or is it her torso that's suspiciously short?)

Wish me luck. Now, remember you have to make something up about me. O.K. You don't have to. But do try the drink.

legs

I'd like to re-assure regular readers that I haven't died, just needed to put the pedal down a bit on the work front. I think I have just succeeded in doing enough to avoid getting into real trouble, my boss returns from holiday tomorrow so time will tell.

The London break was about a day too long but here is a quick synopsis of what I did.

Friday, travel time door to door 5hrs 50 mins. Planes, trains and auto mobiles and lots of walking involved. Exactly as predicted!
Quick shower then out to the Funki Munki where I stood at the bar with 2 mates and drank double Bisongrass and soda for 5 hours. Oh, some drugs might have been involved. And the petite barmaid was forced to come round the bar (she was even shorter this side) and drink shots with us between rounds - 'cos obviously double Bisongrass all night makes you a bit of a lightweight).
Saturday, woke up with very sore, cut knee. No memory of how this happened or how I got home. Must have tried (unsuccessfully) to walk though. Met up with others for a meal at 7.30 after having some mid afternoon Guinness. Ate badly cooked fancy food (quail and wood pigeon followed by lavender brulee) and drank Merlot and Guinness, separate glasses of course. Went to a house party (more drugs might have been involved) getting a taxi home at 7am and falling out with the host's only invited work colleague (he fucking deserved it, the boring bull-shiting, tight-arse excuse for a man that he was). Recruited a South African girl to hit him on my behalf. She hit him much harder and more often than I had anticipated.
Sunday, breakfast at 1pm, afternoon Guinness and orientation (2 days late) followed by drinking and eating in Covent Garden and China Town like the self respecting tourist I am.
Monday, homeward bound. More planes, trains and auto mobiles.

Oh, yes..... legs. Now that I've written this I won't be able to look at that air hostess's legs when I call up my page. Shite! I was enjoying them.

feckin' drink

I'm having a think about my drinking.

I don't drink every day - maybe once a week, I just drink too much, perhaps that should be tooooo much, then generally live to regret it. I get greedy and the more I drink the more I need. I suppose that defines me as an alcoholic. My liver stings the day after (for years I never drank enough fluids and was probably always dehydrated) and my sharp wit and sarcasm turn lazily to borderline offensiveness. Or not.

Some thought required. Maybe just one more then.

same old

Rewind.

7.15am January 1st 2006. Time for bed. The red wine, Bisongrass Vodka and MDMA are cancelling each other out. I have to pick up my daughter around midday (even in my drunkenness I'm giving myself a hard time about being a bad father). All night people have been giving me compliments of one sort or another, "don't look your age", "must be doing well", "etc. I don't take compliments well. A friend of mine who's leaving to live in Australia in a few weeks kept telling me how I'm one of the his favourite two people in the world and how much he'd miss me. His emotions are always kept well under wraps and it was nice for him to say things like that. He wants to arrange a small ski holiday before he goes (a first for me) and I dare say I'll be putting myself in danger in any number of ways - stories will be posted. Yesterday was spent watching my daughter amuse herself (thank God) after a few hours sleep before the residual MDMA overcame the diminishing alcohol left in my system and tortured my exhausted sleepless body.

A two day hangover is halfway spent, I fall further behind in my decorating/moving plans and I return to work tomorrow. "30 lottery tickets please" will probably be my next spoken words. You know where I'm coming from don't you ?

Christmas dinner (and why I'm pathetic)

As this is a much longer entry than normal for me I'll stick part 1 up now. Please put part 1 before your comment (for the benefit of later readers) and I'll update with part 2 as soon as possible. Thanks.
Part 1

You wanna know how the Christmas dinner went? Oke doke. Now, you already know what the ending is, it's only how I got there that differs.
So, night before - I get 2 hours sleep due to my daughter being unwell and an early flight. Arrive to the all day meeting thing which unexpectedly included alcohol. Bucks Fizz at breakfast followed by wine. Meeting ends and get a lift to the hotel. Try to sleep. No dice. Have, how shall I say, a dodgy stomach (onion bhajis at lunch) and spend most of the time between 6 and 7pm when the dinner starts on the toilet. Meet colleagues in the bar and have my first 2 glass worth of merlot. Veeeeery fucking boring so far, I know.
In walks a black dress attached to a beautiful beaming smile and blond bob who is of course my colleague from this entry. Yes, the flirty one who I may have done/said something inappropriate with in the past. Contact.
One of my colleagues brags how he spent £980 on drink whilst entertaining earlier in the week. He and 4 others who work in his department have already consumed 15 bottles of champagne today (somebody say he's a dickhead please).
We sit for dinner. Now this is where you have to start paying attention. My boss's ex P.A. arrives after everyone else in seated. She walks in and at first I struggle to recognise her as she appears to be 2/3 legs and has a catwalk gait. Dress code was supposed to smart casual ( whatever that is) . She's wearing a short-suit, hot pants and a sleeveless top combined, black, lycra, 60's detailing. Do I need to describe this is any more detail? I have a feeling we may be talking later. After the first course I realise sooner or later I'm going to have a cigarette. Due to the bad guts and the the fact I might not even make the end of dinner I decide to buy a pack now. (Sorry Junq, I'm weak.) I return to the bar during the meal (which takes 2 hours to serve) several times to have an occasional cig and top up my wine. It's easier to talk here anyway and socialise. Hello ex P.A. . EXPA is quite thin (did I say she had long legs?) so not usually my area of interest. She seemed pleased to see me. Smallchat. Back to dinner. Circulate with colleagues (there's about 300 in the room). Around this time I approach Smiley Flirty. For no apparent reason she was really "off" with me and the conversation lasted only a minute. Perhaps I have something to apologise for after all. Between a rebuff, giving in to the cigarettes and having to clench my cheeks for the last 2 hours or so this night isn't shaping up well.
I reverberate between the 2 bars for a while meeting various people along the way. EXPA is sitting on her own and I sit with her and congratulate her on her show stopping entrance. She feigns embarrassment and tells me how much she hates her legs. "You ! You've fantastic legs. Stand up EXPA!" And to my surprise she does and lets me wallow in her glory. There is a God and sometimes he even listens to me! A guy comes along and starts to chat with her. She seems interested in what he has to say so I leave them and move back to the comfort of the bar a few feet away where I bump into my boss's current P.A. . We'll call her NEWPA. NEWPA is happy. She calls out my name, grabs my arm and proceeds to tell me how nice I am. This could turn into a dangerous situation. 2 rebuffs, she's caught me on the rebound.


to be continued....

last night

I'm tired . It's late (at least for me it feels it is ) . Just wanted to provide a quick update .

Got very drunk . My client bought 2 bottles of champagne at £100 (just for the 2 of us) in a bar we were in . I lost my jacket in this bar . My phone was in it . I need the numbers and my phone to do my job .
Went back to the hotel where I served us some drink by getting behind the bar and pouring some Guinness and a premium malt whiskey (about £20 worth of whiskey in one glass) . Couldn't speak . Went to bed only for the hotel to forget our alarm call at 7 am to catch our flights home so had to get to the airport unwashed and still in last night's clothes . And of course in packing quickly (30 seconds) I left some things in the hotel room , a new scarf and my favourite pair of jeans .

Bollocks .

I'm really sorry ...

The title ? Just practising . O.K. - sit down and I'll tell you .

You see I went to Manchester for a work conference type thing . I only got 4 hours sleep the night before my flight so it was a long day . I met the usual bunch of colleagues some known to me, some not . There was 1 girl however - not a stunning beauty but very, veeery sexy and she's always smiling . She flirts outrageously with me and this time was no exception . She worked out early in the day that we were to be seated at the same table for dinner and when we went in to the room she changed name cards so she could sit beside me . Flirting ensued . By the time dinner had started I had already gained considerable familiarity with the best Merlot on the wine list .

• I heckled the guest speaker
  
• I had a less than positive conversation about by boss (he was sitting directly opposite me)
• I may have said or done something inappropriate with the flirter
  
• I stayed in the bar to 5 am although can't remember anything past 11 pm
  
• I told my boss's boss some things I probably shouldn't
  
• I ignored my alarm clock until exactly 8.29am when I awoke with my contact lenses still welded to my eyes - the first session of the 2nd day was starting at 8.30am sharp
  

So, as you can see Monday is a daunting day for me .

Now where was I ?

I'm really, reeeaaallly sorry .....

Is f-u-c-k a bad word?

Is fuck a bad word ? It's origins don't come, as is popularly believed, from 19th century English prisons , fuck being an acronym for "for unlawful carnal knowledge" . The shorter f.u.c.k. was supposed to have been written on the inmates' clothing .
It actually comes from a pseudo latin word "fuccant" meaning , well ... to fuck and was spread in various forms in north european languages "fokken" dutch for thrust/copulate , focka , fukka and fock derivatives in other languages and all meaning broadly the same thing .
Do you use it ? If you were to write out the names of ten friends (include yourself) what proportion of them use the word occassionally ?

shame on me

Well boys and girls . The answer . I had just met up with my friends when I spotted her . X came up to meet me and we had a brief chat . X said I was looking very well , younger and that I'd lost weight . X too was looking very well - very tanned - she always had some colour and good skin but then she is 13 years younger than me . Apparently my new phone number had been sought from some mutual friends . X asked me for it anyway and keyed it in to her phone . As she was tired and hadn't been feeling well for a day or two she said she'd be going home soon leaving her friends to continue drinking but now that she had my number would give me a ring during the week to meet up for lunch .......

ground hog day

having just spent a night drinking in my old local i have come to the conclusion that i may be stuck in ground hog day or at least that bar / town is . perhaps it's the same for you . I'll explain what i mean . when i arrived i found there were some friends there and some, better to call them , acquaintances . one such acquaintance " o " who is an artist was busy chatting to another acquaintance " m " . as the night progressed i learnt from the mutual friends that " o " was shagging " m " ( he's always been that discrete ) who is the girlfriend of another artist " i " , also a friend of " o " . now i suspected that their relationship was slightly open , let's say i thought the door was slightly ajar but i never expected the door was loosely attached to the frame hanging by one noisy rusty old hinge . and being as "o " is Mr shout-it-from-the-hills on the old sexual liaison front his relationship may end up ending up sooner than he thinks . it's not very often i'm in that bar now , although it used to be my haunt every friday / saturday night because you could always be sure of bumping into someone you knew . so who should arrive in but " s " who has spent most of his adult years living with tribes people in India and Pakistan close to the kyber pass . i didn't even recognise him at first . he was the pretty boy at school and we all wanted to sleep with his older sister . but now he looks about 10 years older than he actually is and has the teeth of a chain smoking 70 yr old bare fisted boxer . still , like i said , this place always draws them back again . and then there was the girl who was the girlfriend of a brother of one of my old neighbours - mad Kenny i called him ( there's a clue in the name ) . i remember being invited over for a drink by him late one night and she was in the house with him and his girlfriend . his girlfriend went to bed leaving the 3 of us . then Kenny started getting twitchy . it was clear he had an eye for her and didn't like me being there getting on with her . anyway i left but said i'd be up for a while if she fancied some drinks and that i'd leave my door open . so sure enough she arrived over . damn , she looked fine . in the morning she left by the side gate so that he wouldn't see her .now i hadn't seen her from that day and on the one night i go back to that town there she is in the bar .

so yeah , ground hog day i think .

37 hours of not smoking

a bad habit , i know , was off them for over 2 years until about 5 months ago . then had 1 .....you know how it goes . best time to give up is after a bad hangover when you've gone out and eaten cigarettes the night before . feeling a bit druggy now so will update later with my progress - must go out now and get some fast-food mctoxins in me . still , there is hope .

http://www.mdanderson.org/diseases/lung/display.cfm/?id=93253c19-30e6-4327-b7c769b55941ee6e&method=displayfull&pn=033766c5-832a-11d4-aec800508bdcce3a

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