Sausages and Bitter
It was Friday in December in the City of London and myself and my boss were celebrating a successful MBO with a bunch of venture capitalists, it started at 1000am at the bank offices with wine, champagne, canapés and fancy sandwiches (e.g. smoked chicken and avocado). It was a long drawn out assignment and me and my boss were up for it to get hammered. We left then to go back to our office at 1.30pm but decided to pop in our local work pub (The Cockpit) for lunch. Anyhow we started on Director’s Bitter followed up by large sausages followed by more bitter. Roll forward to 5.30pm and our work colleagues joined in our session and more beer and sausages were consumed. Suddenly at around 7.30pm I stood up to go for a leak and realised I was blind drunk. Much to my benefit (as you will see later) a Canadian colleague used the same rail line from Victoria so he accompanied me from Blackfriars to Victoria on the tube.

I was in great form, but I remember it was a freezing night and luckily I was wearing my warm winter Crombie overcoat. However the motion of the tube turned started to make me feel queasy, and by the time the tube was at Westminster I looked like a jaundiced tramp and the tube was spinning and the vomit was slowly building up like Krakatoa in my gut. I told my mate I was going to throw-up and he said hold it until the toilet in Victoria. We slowly rumbled into Victoria station and the heat, motion and nauseous feeling overcame me and as the doors of the tube opened I projectile vomited out onto the platform a gungy mess of beer and half digested sausages. Luckily the platform was empty.

I felt terrible, my mate had to help me walk up into the rail station and managed to find seats on the Bromley train. I never felt as bad I did that evening I wanted to die. Anyhow, the train pulled off and the open window was giving me fresh air until some biddy asked my mate to shut it. Fast forward to the tunnel just past Sydenham Hill and the change in air pressure and the motion made me want to vomit again. I couldn’t move or stand-up, so I just lifted the collar of my overcoat up over my mouth and barfed the delicious combination of half digested bitter and sausages down under my coat all over my suit and shirt. I was a total fucking mess, people just moved away from me to stand at the far end of the carriage. My mate then helped to walk me home. I got home and went straight past the wife and into the bathroom, stripped naked and fell asleep on my soiled clothes.

It took me three days to recover.
( The Scrunt Wants a Dozen Pints, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 13:01, 2 replies)

I like
the Cockpit, nice little pub.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 13:57, closed)

*click*
for living on the same train line as me. and the vomming stuff.
(Alphabet Soap boshboshboshbosh, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 15:17, closed)