Sunday, June 06, 2004

The Wife's 30th Birthday

I think perhaps that I should leave parties an hour before the end, to avoid the bizarre and hazy events that generally ensue after hearty alcohol consumption at 2AM. But, if the party is your own (or your wife's), then you're honour-bound to stay until the end.

I have no concept of 'enough' once I get into the end-of-the-party zone, and will continue to top up my glass with rum and drink it merrily until I realise that I'm sitting alone, and all my guests have gone home.

'Where did everyone go?' I ask.

This evening started well enough, and I actually managed to avoid drinking the Rum that I had bought, and stuck to the various beers that lined the fridge. I had made a fruit punch which contained a sturdy measure of the hard stuff, but I only had a couple of cups of it before it was polished off by others.

Thankfully.

So I remained fairly clear until about midnight, or perhaps 1AM, when the veil of stupidity fell upon me and I started to talk nonsense to whoever was unfortunate enough to be close to me.

I spent some time trying to learn a trick for opening beer bottles using only a bottle top and some thumb pressure.

Unsuccessfully.

This resulted in a lot of beer bottles being opened at the same time, which then, of course, all had to be consumed.

I avoided inflicting my own party tricks on people, preferring instead to tell people how much I loved them and / or that they were my new best friends.

'Whenever you're in town, call me, we'll go out for a beer. You can stay here whenever you like. Look, I'll give you my telephone number.'

'You already gave it to me. Twice.'

'Oh.'

At one point I go to get a card with our address and phone number on it. When I get back to the lounge I've forgotten who I'm supposed to give it to. I spy someone leaving and guess that it must be them.

'Here's that card,' I say, holding it out.

'Um, I already have one, thanks.'

'Oh.'

My golden rule of drinking stood me in excellent stead during the evening:

"Never, ever, arrange to do anything with anybody, whilst drunk."

Picture the scene, it's 9AM and you have a hangover from hell, then, as you wobble towards the bathroom it hits you like a thunderbolt:

Oh my god, I arranged to go hangliding / waterskiing / mountain climbing / play rugby today with that guy from the pub last night.

You hope that he won't remember, but no, there's a knock on the door and you are doomed.

So, although the offer of 'sailing tomorrow' is very appealing, I ask for a telephone call in the morning to confirm the event.

'I never arrange anything when drunk.' I slur, in bad French.

'A real sailor goes to sea if he says he will, no matter how bad he feels.' He replies.

There was no phone call this morning.

The evening's last memory for me is a very intense conversation where I feel like I'm saying inappropriate and bizarre things, and then everyone is gone.

'Where did everyone go?' I ask.

Luckily, everyone else was rather drunk too. No sober people taking notes.

I hope.

This morning we found a lot of Gin, Rum, beer and cameras. Now you know it was a good party when people actually leave half a bottle of Gin behind, too drunk to remember to take it when they leave, focusing all their concentration and energy on the task at hand – getting home.

But today I was surprised to learn that most of the people who left all had the intention of going to eat a Poutine at 3AM.

I'm somewhat glad I didn't feel hungry.

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