Sunrise Over Shitsville
It’s a little after 4 in the morning and after a little more than 4 hours sleep I’m sat downstairs with a steaming mug of coffee and a peed off frame of mind. Rachel decided to take herself off round to her friends house for a few hours (another Rachel) and for the first part she took Joe with her, not that she wanted too but he kicked up a fuss and I hadmade it clear I didn’t see why she couldn’t. Anyway, she told Tom to head across when he took his girlfriend home and bring Joe back if they weren’t home already (some chance). So Joe is home and in bed for 10.30, as is Tom and so am I.
Scroll forward a lot of hours and I hear the bedroom door creak open and the door sidle in and into her bed, Rachel did her usual trick of heading for the bathroom. I checked the clock (as I always do) and saw it was three in the morning (dirty stop-out). As I waited… and waited for her to come to bed there was all manner of bizarre noises issuing forth from the bathroom and a full 20 minutes later she appeared, claiming total ignorance for why she was so long. By that stage I needed to go myself and was hit as soon as I left the bedroom by the strong smell of vomit. The dear girl had got herself so sozzled on whatever poison was available she’d puked all over the bathroom (and not done too good a job of cleaning up after herself).
Upon my return to the boudoir I happened (as chance would have it) to ask again what the problem was with the toilet and after another denial finally coughed to having thrown up, with a rather spurious tale of a didgy pizza. Bollocks!
Now it is fair to say that I have something of a condescending nature, and that a strong Puritan streak runs through me, and anyone who knows me at all knows that alcohol, and its abuses, is one of my little bug bears. So as I lay, wide awake and fuming, she drifts off and does her customary post piss up impression of a warthog. Now just imagine how unimpressed I am! I give it half an hour but I ain’t sleeping and she ain’t stopping so I figure sod it, I may as well get up and vent my spleen to you guys (whoever you are). It wouldn’t be so bad but not sleeping really screws with my metabolism and pretty much leaves like a zombie the following day so I’ve had to cancel the usual sunday get together with the boys and willinstead catch up on sleep and quiet seeth on my own.
What’s wrong with a drink, you might ask, just to be social. By and large nothing. Personally I don’t see the point but some people do so I exercise my right not to do so and leave the rest of you to go your own way. What I don’t see is the need to drink so much the bodies self defence mechanism kicks in and repels the poison, all over my bloody bathroom floor. Frankly it’s self indulgent, purile and not a little bit stupid. It’s completely unnecessary and to be honest, childish. If you ain’t learnt some bloody self restraint by your mid thirties then clearly you have a problem, though exactly what that problemmight be I really don’t want to guess.
The other thing that really annoys me is that she thought I wouldn’t notice. I can’t abide lying. Honesty is something I demand from all my friends because anything else is just an insult to my intelligence.
In revenge, the first child to appear downstairs (which should be Joe at about eight) will be instructed to wake mummy in the noisiest most brutal way possible. The only good think about drinking? The fun we non partakers can have on the morning after.