McVom.
It was a Sunday night, and my friend had invited me to a night on the beers- his tab, as my wallet was emptier than a San Fernando blonde's head. Yes, that empty. I was working the next day, but a free beer is a free beer. One beer turned into two, then three, four, and finally, 5. Not that much in the grand scheme of things, but on an empty stomach can make things not too hairy, but pushing it a bit. Might I add it was five pints of Yorkshire's finest real ale, which lays a little heavy to say the least.

However, it was getting to chucking out time. My friend, in his infinite wisdom, decided to also invest in a double whisky- which was nice at the time but tipped the balance from slightly merry to slightly more than merry. Whisky tends to not have a pleasant effect on me when mixed with other forms of alcohol you see. On it's own, fine. Mixed... disaster, as I am about to explain.

I got the bus back home, and ended up having to do the technicolour yawn (luckily I felt it coming and asked the bus driver to pull over) on the way back home between Wharnecliffe Side and Stocksbridge. Those of you who live in Sheffield know how bumpy the road is there, and this does offer more of an explanation for the digestive pyrotechnics, rather than the stupidly mixed drinks I had just had. Anyways, back to the vomming. I had asked the bus driver to pull over- luckily I stood on the bus, with the doors open, and spewed outside. And still held on. When I came to, I noticed the varying looks of pity and disgust. So I took a bow.

It gets worse though. The hangover the next day was as though I had woke with a Parisian tramp in my mouth, a head like the north west of Pakistan, and a stomach more liable to erupt than Krakatoa. Which it did- twice, on the way to work. The juddering of the bus got to me. At the time I was travelling to work with a friend, whose last sight of me was going very pale, and leaping off the bus. From there, I legged it to the nearest fast food joint, and coined a new word- the McVom. Yes, I worshipped the porcelain god with cries of "HUEEEEEEY" somewhat loudly. In a sodding MacDonalds. What made matters worse was that the cleaner heard me, and that the person before had left a rather large floater. Lovely start to a Monday morning. Then, to add more straw to the camel's back, was the somewhat shaky walk to work after the McVom. And then getting to work, looking like death. And then going straight home again with what my boss thought was a bad case of food poisoning. Only to recover by midday. Go figure.

I was
( jim_bob can herd cats., Wed 30 Nov 2005, 22:34, Reply)