If Mr Clairwil hadn't taken part in this foolish alcohol experiment I'd have thought he'd finally snapped and decided to kill me. Alcohol is a cruel drug in that the hapless drinker is always the last to know they've had enough. So when Mr Clairwil produced a bottle of what he called African Rum, though I suspect it emerged from the pit of hell, I eagerly snatched it from his hands and got stuck in. Apparently it cost the equivalent of 97p in foreign money. The buyer was ripped off.
I feel certain I maybe permanently damaged. It smelt odd which should have put me off and if I wasn't so macho about alcohol it would have. All my life I've sneered at women sitting demurely in a corner with a heavily diluted spirit or a Bacardi Breezer. Oh come on, either drink or don't. That said maybe they were right, at least none of them crawled out of bed well after midday and spent the day wandering the streets reeking of moonshine and forgetting where everything was. Honestly I felt like a tourist from another planet. To be fair I always feel a bit like that anyway, more so at family gatherings.
Instead of doing all the wonderful things I planned today I've spent the day lying on the floor feeling puzzled. As for the dreams I had under the influence of that stuff, no tongue could convey their true oddness. Wandering around a hotel with no reception and stairways that lead nowhere, Tony Wilson living in my flat, my G.P sobbing, living in an abandoned factory full of pipes, being able to live underwater and taking a lion for a walk. Those were the more sensible bits.
Booze- just say no.
Please take a look at those 'very jellas bitches' over at Jodie Mush. I love them and of course don't forget to drop in on the Scottish Blog Round Up.