I was not actually drunk...
No, this is not a story about pulling someone quite regrettable. (Bearded Whumpus, before you say anything, I was drunk when that happened!)

A few years ago, an old schoolfriend - 'A' for the sake of protecting identities - turned 18 (and lo and behold the rest of us followed suit a little while after.) Having gone to different 6th-forms, we hadn't seen each other for a while, so it was nice to catch up. It was a fairly low-key affair; I met A and other friend R, and a few hours were frittered away at a bowling alley before we went back to A's place for a few beers.

It was then I found out that D was also joining us. Oh, crap, thought I, I never could stand that irritating little cockdonkey. Well, perhaps he's mellowed a bit in the last year or so. Please god I hope he's mellowed a bit in the last year or so...

What follows is the shameful story of how I tried to escape.

Things started out alright, but it was only a matter of time before D started to get on my tits. He hadn't mellowed at all; if anything he'd ripened, and, in much the same way that a ripe Camembert makes the whole fridge stink of itself, he was filling the room with his own abrasive presence. (Not difficult, given there were only four of us there, I admit.)

Now I don't intend to brag, but the fact was that, even at 17, a four-pack of London Pride was not going to render me bladdered. A little merry, but fairly compus mentis. I was, however, rather bored, and decided to entertain the others by acting pished.

Then came my opportunity to escape. They decided that we needed some more drinks - D and I decided to go to off-licence. This is with me still playing the role of the sozzled tramp. Insisting that "I jusht need shome freshhaiir," and managing to fake almost leaving the house with nothing on my feet, it became apparent that I was playing the part too well.

The trouble was, it didn't occur to me to stop. So I rocketed off down the road, off towards the bus stop. D gave chase (he was about half the size of me, and I can walk pretty damn fast when the mood takes me) and tried to point me in the other direction. He was convinced that I was paralytic and was doing his best to get me back to A's house, with me repeating that "I know where the off-lishense ish..."

Christ, I could be quite the bastard sometimes, couldn't I?

Eventually, he gave up and left me to it, and I caught a bus. It hadn't really dawned on me that they didn't realise I was faking.

I of course got my comeuppance a couple of years later. I've met up with them since (D still grates, it has to be said), and they've reminded about how "drunk" I was that night. And, of course, I've had to sheepishly explain to them that I was just faking it. And then I feel like the arsehole I was at that age. But I'm still amazed that they believed it...

Apologies, any length is entirely an illusion.
(LongJohnBaldry, Thu 10 Jul 2008, 18:06, Reply)