That pure Cane Spirit since 1848.

Saturday, November 12, 2005

Silver horses run down moonbeams in your dark eyes.

As I write, (3.00pm Saturday) Maison Maroon is quiet as the cloister (except for the football commentary) as we go through our recovery procedures.
I have a theory (among many) that the crapulous state one enters while “in the horrors” is how it will be when one is old and feeble. If this IS the case, then I’m really in the shit.
We all have our strategies for hangovers, the pills, the comfort food, the keeping a low profile the next day. So far so good, what you can’t escape are the fucking flashbacks. Like a dying man, you see yourself from a distance, talking utter total and totally utter shite and bollocks and adopting mildly belligerent postures against the younger, happier, more carefree drinkers.
My picture today shows the villain of the piece.
Anyone, especially a thirsty Maroon can quaff pishy lager till the cows come home. All that happens is I get more intelligent, witty and charming. A couple of wee goldies though, and I become The King o the World.
Thus it was when I spotted the danger signs last night.
A young lady I’d seen somewhere before, caught my attention across the happy throng. She pointed at the door, then herself, clasped her hands as if in prayer then put them against her tilted head.
Aha! Universal sign language;
“Me go now home sleep”.
Points at ME (twice), door, sleep.
“What’s that doll?”
YOU, (points), COME (points at door, more urgent now) FUCKING HOME TOO YOU PRICK! (a complicated hand/facial combination).
For once in my life I took Mrs Maroon’s advice and here I am, trembling, to tell the tale. Another couple of drinks and I might have fallen over, scattering drinks in all directions, while still contriving to head butt the young lad at the end of the table who for some reason was starting to seriously get on my nerves. So far so good.
The plan as far as I’m aware, is to repeat everything yet again tonight (like a dog returning to its vomit).
Oh merciful Jove! Keep that mischievous little fucker Bacchus in tonight.
Ah fuck it, give us a drink!

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