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DRUNK - Brought to you by Gazz Wood -
He does it to me every fucking time. Whenever he comes up or whenever I see him he always does it and half the time I don't even realise.
I'm talking about this man... Jammy. My old friend from home, now safely in the army where he can do me no harm. Until he gets leave.
Jammy has been threatening to come up here ever since his first weekend visit during the Live From New York Street era of LMU. On that weekend I got so wasted I was thrown out of Walkabout for smashing glasses with my coat, lost a serious amount of my memory and lost Scott, Jammy's mate from the forces, for almost a day. It was a good time, but it cost me.
So when he tells me he's coming up I have a degree of fright in me. Sure, it'll be a laugh to see him and I look forward to it, but it's not going to be free. He had planned for us to have a 12 Can Challenge, something he invented during our DCNG days (DCNG was the second incarnation of The Drunk Club website, which in itself was the basis for this very site) and basically involves gathering some friends in an unusual location, usually outside, and then drink 12 Cans of Red Stripe. Fine.
My plan was a BBQ, out on the backyard of the V1 house. Leeds doesn't really have any outside locations where it is possible to drink without getting raped, mugged, or otherwise fucked up by person or persons unsavoury, so the backyard was a perfect solution. That was until the building works began and the once potential home of the 12 Can Return BBQ became little more than a graveyard for rubbish bathroom fittings.
That dead, the scheme then became to sheen up to the temp flat we'd gotten from our landlords and play poker. Jammy's Dad recently got his hands on a proper set, with chips and the lot, and with a £5 all told each into the game I wouldn't even be losing a lot of money, since I'm shite at poker and would most certainly be going home wearing nothing but a barrel with shoulder straps.
Course when Jammy came up he'd not brought the kit, so that was out as well. Instead we'd just sit in the flat and get crunked up, maybe get a DVD on the laptop or something. Nothing fancy.
Before all that could go off we ventured into town, for Jammy to change his foreign moneys into real moneys and for us to get a Subway. He fancied a quick beverage and the idea of a frosty bitter on a sunny afternoon was not the worst thing I'd ever heard, so off to the DryDock we did go.
I had a pint and, even though it was the middle of the afternoon, Jammy and James got on the shots. Vodka for Jammy and Strawberry Tequila for James, with lemon obviously. I steer clear of shots because I'm such a light weight. If I drink too strong booze too fast I throw up, and so most shots are out of my limits and I know it. Without Jammy there to discover Apple Sourz, I might not even have stabbed myself in the face that night, but I'll get to that.
One shot of Sourz in me, and one each for the others, and James blagged a free gift. A fly in his shot. Sending it back proved to be the best course because he was rewarded with a free shot, which he gave to me so I could catch up.
I've had two shots, two pints and I am fairly certain I should not drink anymore, but that's not up to me because Jammy bought me a double Sourz, which I sensibly put into two separate shot glasses so I could do it at my own pace.
Gone.
More shots, triples this time in three shot glasses. Another pint. Pissing a great deal. Some more shots, two more I think I honestly don't remember. Pretty sure we freaked out the bar staff by being as drunk as we were at such an early time in the day.
When I could take no more we toddled off back to V1 where James and myself crashed out on the sofas with Hollyoaks on in the background, while Jammy went through James' phone and called up everyone he could get hold of, including Gemma Helman, Emma Gordon and several other girls on there, half of whom don't even know who James is. He's that kind of popular.
I felt sick, super fucking sick, and I ran into the kitchen (because we don't have a bathroom anymore) squirting small amounts of the large amount of puke in mouth all over the carpet like a human vomit super soaker 100. I made it to the sink, over the obstacle course of tiles and plaster board that litters my kitchen, and as I bared down upon the chrome sickhole I felt a nasty sensation. Not just the being sick, something else. I looked into the sink, bleary eyed with beers, and saw pure blood dripping in the bowl.
FUCK! I'm puking blood... PURE fucking blood! I've got like cancer or something right? RIGHT?
No.
Feeling around my mouth to wipe about the blood, my fingers find a bump on my cheek. A wet bump. A cursory glance at my fingers throws up more blood, which I wash away, only to get blood on me again while rechecking the bump. I look around the sink area, what could have caused me this massive injury which is still spewing plasma everywhere after a good few minutes?
Then I spied it. A Steak knife sticking up out of the cutlery rack. I examine it. About a centimetre of the point is bloodied. My top draw sleuthing skills aid me in coming to the conclusion that it stabbed me in the face. Grand.
I crash back on the sofa, probably bleeding all over it from the gash in my face. Hollyoaks is still on. I hear that someone is dead from stabbing. Hollyoaks... always topical. Jammy is talking to Gemma on the phone and she has no idea who he is or what he wants. I fall asleep.
When I wake up again I give another run at being sick, throwing the steak knife away from face level as I do so. I feel rotten but am still super frigging drunk. I half crawl, half fall, up the stairs and land, face down, diagonally across my bed and there I stay until some time later, when Jammy rucks up into the room and helpfully informs me that it is only 10:30, and therefore my drinking is not done. He wants to go out some more. I fucking don't want that. I want some water and to be left alone. Never one to take no for an answer, specially from me, Jammy enlists the help of the freakishly strong James to yank me out of my semi-peaceful existence and drag me off my bed.
I'm not going without a fight, and they have to take the mattress with me some of the way because I grab the edges to avoid leaving the bed. In the end they are too much for me and, along with my duvet, I crash to the ground.
Grabbing a leg a piece the bastards pull me across my bedroom floor, totally ignoring my protests and suggestions that leaving me alone would be best for everyone. We get out the door onto the landing and are immediately confronted with the stairs.
Ha ha, I think, they will have to leave me now. There's no way they're going to carry me down the stairs. As always, I was right. They had no intention of carrying me down the stairs.
Still with a leg in each hand the pair, now known as Team James, start dragging me down the steps. I think I went maybe 4 steps before survival instinct kicked in and I grabbed the railing and clung onto it like grim death. The rounded pole was good, but did not afford me much purchase and soon my hands slipped off like a drunk 15 year old's skirt in the bathroom of her year 10 prom, and for support I grabbed the squared off poles. They dug into my hands something fierce and, combined with the dual pulling action of James and Jammy, I was lifted up off the stairs before finally having to leg go, sending them down on their feet and me down on my stomach.
During the struggle my shirt had rucked up and, as a consequence, the carpet found only my bare flesh to sand away as I hit every fucking step on the way down. I've got two carpet burns now, and they're there because of guys which is not cool. Not cool at all.
Hoping my ordeal was over, I received a shock when Team James got over the brief stumble down the stairs and got my legs again, dragging me off my duvet and across the hall, half out the front door before I just gave in and agreed to go out.
The Hyde Park pub was closed early and, having convinced Jammy that due to the students still being away everywhere would be closed as well, he just got a chicken kebab and let us go home.
James went to bed, I went to bed, and Jammy watched episodes of Family Guy on my laptop and had an enthusiastic conversation with me about the merits of Robovideo.
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