Monday Losers 06/02/2006

Never again.

Saturday started just like any other; waking up on a solitary couch cushion at The Palms after having been put to the sword by the Laburn’s hospitality and then finished off by the Crazy Ukranian at the 5th Leg.

And then suddenly…

I found myself at ‘The Playboy Mansion Digs’. That might be a gloat from most other digs’ but in this case a jacuzzi and bar complete with silver bar fridge and draught on tap, make it quite true. Anyway, I had the Jetta VR6 pimp mobile there on account of The Tank being at the garage because it was leaking brake fluid and trying to kill me just for a change. The better part of my day was spent in the jacuzzi drinking the amber elixir and talking crap. Fantastic. Then the beer ran out… It was replaced with wine and tequila. It was Dunkirk all over again – well except for the Nazis and the bullets and people dying bloody deaths and the fact that it was sort of pleasurable in a self-abusive kind of a way.
Towards the end of the evening I found myself talking to a nice blonde (bear in mind I hadn’t met her until I’d spent about 5 hours in a jacuzzi drinking beer, so details are a little hazy). I managed to persuade her that I was a Zim farmer and that is what accounted for the not so pretty exterior and uncouth tongue (?? It made sense at the time, ok). Somehow some semblance of lucidity managed to fight it’s way through the bleariness and I seemed to have her eating out of my hand. It doesn’t happen very often, but I was on form: she was laughing at my stupid shitty jokes, and appeared to have an idea what I was on about, when I didn’t myself. Nice one Jamo, sorted son… And then she introduced me to her boyfriend.

And then suddenly…

I found myself waking up on a beanbag covered in permanent marker scrawlings…sans car keys. I managed to get myself delivered home and had to greet my Old Man looking as I did and without his car. Not for the first time in my life I saw the look of utter sadness and hopelessness on my Old Man’s face.

Were it not for the fact that Scotland made little schoolboys of the French, I think it would have been numbered amongst my top 5 worst days of my life.

The keys have yet to be found. If anyone knows of there whereabouts, it would be of great use to me. Ta.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE HIPPIE WRITER IN FAIRY SHOES, MAY YOUR DAY BE FILLED WITH CHEESECAKE AND THINGS DELICIOUS.

Apologies to Knaps and aforementioned Hippie Writer for being so rude. There are no excuses.