Never again.
As there is a likelihood that a lot of the posts will be substantially reliant on the effects of copious amounts of alcohol, I feel it incumbent that I do not buck the trend.

Suddenly it’s back in 1979 and a young Porky has his first regular job. And shitloads of spare money, more than he’s ever had before. Obviously it cannot be kept or used wisely so most of it is invested in cirrhosing my liver. By Christmas of 1980 my drinking had really progressed and I was getting quite good at it. Christmas Eve 1980 was to be an Epiphany.

As was traditional in the Civil Service Christmas Eve drinking started as soon after 11.30 am as was reasonably possible. By 1:30 I’d had at least a bottle of spirits and 6 pints of snakebite. After which the party started. Suffice to say I was in a grand mess by about 5.30. Wandering off to catch the train I dropped my travel pass. After falling over 3 times trying to pick it up my poor beknighted grey cells got together and suggested it would be better to pick it up while I was down there. Whoopee I could go for the train now. With that unerring accuracy available only to drunks and those beloved of a deity I managed to find the right platform, the right train and the right seat (next to the toilet). Unfortunately I fell asleep and woke at the station after the one I wanted. I got off the train and had my first close call.

Like any good drunk I had a good sit down before setting off again. At this point I realised stairs were a bad idea. A much better idea was to walk to the end of the platform and onto the tracks. And crawl across on hands and knees without checking for traffic. I was lucky. Outside the station I used all my charm and powers of persuasion (£15) to get the taxi driver to take me home. Where I had my second lucky escape. Deciding the (shared) upstairs toilet in the flat was too far away I went for the second choice: into the backyard and piss in the drain. I was so relieved. I felt warm and happy. And sleepy. So I lay down in the backyard, on the ice (it was -3C) and got some zeds in. Fortunately my flatmate arrived home to find all the lights blazing and the backdoor open. By the time he got me in there was a layer of ice on my coat.

Lucky? I think so. Didn’t stop me drinking though, just didn’t go home alone anymore.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Fri 13 Feb 2009, 11:16, Reply)