I am starting to detect a theme here, a lot of the stories I want to tell seem to revolve around alcohol. Now I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t generally drink that often and neither do my family. It’s just that, drunk stories seem to be funnier….at least to me.
Picture the scene. Family friend and long time Sunderland Football Club supporter Alan has his 50th birthday. My parents decide to throw a shindig for him at the football club bar. Many people arrived, many a drink was drunk (all at RAF prices) and a jolly good time was had by all.
Presents that were given included a signed, framed picture of Newcastle United Football Club and a polyester lounge suit that Alan was forced to wear and be pictured with.
Now, when you are young, keeping up with the men is a favourite past time at parties. When you are old enough to have reasonable drinking experience, you tend to think you have the same capacity as these men….this is a dangerous notion and one that should be stopped immediately. I was fortunate enough to be a little older and wiser, therefore calling it a night relatively early.
I tried in vain to persuade my brother Kev that the best idea would be to come with me, but by then he had that drunken aura of invincibility that around 10 pints of beer brings you. I left, he stayed. Oh dear.
I went back to my parents place and was watching DVDs (Bill Hicks if I recall). At around 4am the doorbell goes and I wander to the door, ready to hurle abuse at whichever lunatic had forgotten how a house key worked. Opening the door, I was face to face with a stranger. This stranger had a large (and slightly angry it seemed) dog. I breathe in and puff my chest out in the classic pose of bigger is stronger that the animal kingdom tend to employ, when he utters the immortal words :
“Is this yours?”
He turns towards the front lawn and nods. I recognise immediately that it is Kev….face down and starfished on the grass. I run over to see if he is ok, while bloke with angry dog wanders off chuckling to himself.
Essentially Kev has been beaten, beaten badly in a drinking competition by the “olds”. Made worse by the fact that they are still there, still drinking and having a good time. He was a broken man.
It’s a level of shame that I am not sure he ever recovered from, all I know with any certainty….he never took up that challenge again.
For completeness…I am not a total bastard. After waking him up and taking the piss for a while, I ended up staying awake all night to make sure he didn’t swallow his tongue or anything stupid.
Next time….it’s his turn to babysit
Stay tuned for more alcohol induced frivolity…