Sunday, 20 March 2011
I Am (Apparently) Not A Stuntman...
About 18-25 drinks. A blend of London pubs on a stag night adventure. Beer. Spirits. Mixed beery spirits. Spirity mixed beer. Green stuff with taurine. After a very fun initial rampage through Wapping and then Whitechapel, I remember not very much at all. The vague memory I do have is the night bus driver shouting at me for making sick-like noises then kicking me off the bus. "Where the fuck am I?" I thought, as I literally swayed myself off the bus. All I could see was houses. I found another bus stop and realised I was in Hainault. Brilliant, I'm in England. I swayed my way down the road towards the station and found a closed cab office. As I had no battery on my battered phone, I used a phone box which appeared to eat the first four pound coins until it started working. I must have sounded totally ruined but the nice man said someone was coming to get me. Yipee. The cab arrived about 14 years later and I was delighted to be sitting in the warm - but it only made me more battered. I didn't know which way to tilt my head but it was guided by which way the car turned, like I was feeling G forces in a fighter jet. Luckily, very luckily, I live on a gated estate. Even in my supreme levels of drunkenness, I conjured a cunning plan to evade the driver and avoid having to pay the fare (I didn't have more than 87p anyway). I got through the gate but, in my ultimate wisdom, let Sergei come through after me. I must have totally snailed down the road away from the driver cos he didn't chase me at all - but I thought he was! He started shouting "Hey! Hey!" and I thought I better leg it quicktime or the geezers gonna switch. Running in between the blocks, I thought I could hear him coming after me so had to speed up. Rather than just run down the 5 steps in front of me, I decided it was critical to my hasty escape to absolutely launch myself, at the greatest possible height and speed, into the air. Dropping from about 10ft, I landed on my ankle, smashed my face and performed a stunning double diagonal roll. Some tekkers are baaaaaad. Absolutely broken and fucked from the impact, blood coming out of my hand and ankle ruined, I pulled myself off the floor and hobbled off round the corner and into my block. Mission accomplished, ta ta Sergei. Unfortunately, as I woke up on the floor wearing a defrosting steak & kidney pie and hugging a loafer, I realised that I'm not actually a stuntman and I'm in 11 shades of pain.
Posted by F-DAAT! at 13:28