Crap drinking injuries

Guaranteed. Flip us a text to give an ETA when you can make a good
guess at it and we'll stick the kettle on.

PS. You know we've moved since you last visited, right?

 

Heh. I was wondering if you'd mention that. That you know of, have there
been any drop ins to the old pixies towers that resulted in confusion?

 

<G> May I say FOYRNB?

--
Cab :^) - I'm dyslex-spic apparently
GSX 1400 - Speedy Zimmerframe.
UKRMMA#10 (KOTL), IbW#015, BoB#4, POTM#3, SKA#1
email addy : ukrm_dot_cab_at_rosbif_dot_org
The gingeometer: http://www.rosbif.org/ukrm/gingeometer/

 

I'll think about it. At any rate, it'll take me some time to type the
post out and so I'll need to do it tonight.

--
Cab :^) - I'm dyslex-spic apparently
GSX 1400 - Speedy Zimmerframe.
UKRMMA#10 (KOTL), IbW#015, BoB#4, POTM#3, SKA#1
email addy : ukrm_dot_cab_at_rosbif_dot_org
The gingeometer: http://www.rosbif.org/ukrm/gingeometer/

 

Hah! as we haven't even met, you may.


....although I don't see any denial.

 

*Snort*.

 

I thought my reputation preceeded me

 

She was sober when it happened but Heather's broken finger still give
me the shivers.

http://www.cane.ukrm.btinternet.co.uk/hand.jpg

 

...and the landmark has disappeared.

 

nnnnngggg - ow !

 

They fixed it...

http://www.cane.ukrm.btinternet.co.uk/hands.jpg

 

You should see what state the guys face was in ;-)

 

Just what I was thinking.

 

Happy to oblige.

I was out on the beers, many moons ago, with a mate from the London
Ambulance Service who worked near to Waterloo. In fact, my flat was in
the blocks just behind the LAS building.

As you do, I got completely hammered and "lost" my mate somewhere
around Trafalgar Square. Somehow I managed to stagger back to my flat,
having lost my travelcard (which, considering the state I was in, was
no mean feat).

Now there's a couple of things you should know.

1. This place was a "triplex". First floor was the living room; second,
bog and bathroom; third, three bedrooms. So I had crawl upstairs to
the bedroom (much to the amusement of my flatmates (one with his
girlfriend over) when they saw me at the top of the landing, having
woken them up).
2. Secondly, I sleep in the buff. Nothing more than Mother Nature
intended me to.

Anyway I hops into bed and seconds later, vomits all over the carpet.
In my state, I thought that that was it, so I try to doze off.

Unfortunately, it wasn't "it" and the room starts to spin. Slowly at
first, with me thinking I could handle it. The for some bloody reason,
the spin got faster, so I thought, "Uh oh, this is a trip to the karzi
job".

I leap out of bed and skid on the pile of vomit and I slip back and
crack my head on the bedside cabinet giving myself an almighty fscking
bump. Not deterred by this and the ever powerful anaesthetic properties
of alcohol, I continue my charge to the karzi. Just as I reach the
stairs, thinking quickly, I put my foot out to go upstairs. Remember
what I said? The stairs went down. So arse over tit I go, tackle flying
all over the place, scraping my face down the side of the woodchip
wallpaper. I put my hand out to stop my fall, right into a small,
inconveniently placed, glass topped coffee table.

Alcohol is still great, innit? I still felt nothing apart from the
world going faster and faster, until I manage to reach that famous
loo. I gratefully empty the contents of my stomach whilst having
forgotten that I'd probably woken God up with the noise that I had made.

As if I wasn't embarrassed enough, when I stood up, I look straight
into the face of my flatmates (and one girlfriend) whilst covered in
blood. My mate's girlfriend screamed, not because of the general blood,
but because of the blood on my tackle. She thought (wrongly, much to
my relief) that I'd cut my tackle on the table. As it was, blood was
all over the shop, on the karzi floor, on the karzi, on the walls,
everywhere. It looked worse than a slaughter in an abbatoir
(Apparently, because they cleaned the lot up after they told me to
bugger off to St Tommies, up the road).

So, I get dressed in shorts, t-shirt and trainers and call a taxi. FFS,
a fucking taxi. All I didn't want to bother the lads in the ambulance
station across the road. This was about 2-3am now. Apparently, my
flatmates had seen the funny side. I added to their amusement when the
taxi driver turned up (I've got quite a powerful voice apparently and
they could hear me three floors up), and I went, "you here for a lift
to the hospital, mate?" I mean FFS, how many other fucking numpties
were in the road at stupid o'clock waiting for a taxi?

So off to the hospital where they did the biz and treated me. Like a
pillock, I'd only had enough money for a one way trip, so ended up
walking home afterwards.

Anyway, two things that I should add to this missive.

1. My drinking partner had found his was to the LAS station where he'd
got his head down, so I could have walked in after all.

2. This is the bit where I was concerned about my street cred. I had
had the greatest of luck to have gone out with a fantastic girl (half
French / half German) with whom I still keep in touch with from time to
time. We'd split up because if various things (mostly because I was
broke and a student), but we still kept in touch regularly at that time.

Anyway, I met up with her a few nights later for a meal and was too
embarrassed to tell the true story. So in my moment of bravado, I told
her that I'd stopped someone from being mugged on the way back from the
pub with a.n. other mate and I'd been slashed across the palm of my
hand in the attempt to stop the mugging. My adorable friend thought
this so brave that she decided to sleep with me, one more time, for
being a hero. I've _never_ had the balls to tell her the truth since.

I'm pretty sure she doesn't lurk. If she does, I hope I've not given
too much away, for her to recognise me.

What the hell, it was nearly 20 years ago now.

--
Cab :^) - I'm dyslex-spic apparently
GSX 1400 - Speedy Zimmerframe.
UKRMMA#10 (KOTL), IbW#015, BoB#4, POTM#3, SKA#1
email addy : ukrm_dot_cab_at_rosbif_dot_org
The gingeometer: http://www.rosbif.org/ukrm/gingeometer/

 

<Stands up, bows, and offers generous applause>

 

{ snip }

Classic.

D.

 

I haven't seen him since.

D.

 

<snip>

Jesus. And I've slept with you?

 

'salright, I don't remember.

--
Cab :^) - I'm dyslex-spic apparently
GSX 1400 - Speedy Zimmerframe.
UKRMMA#10 (KOTL), IbW#015, BoB#4, POTM#3, SKA#1
email addy : ukrm_dot_cab_at_rosbif_dot_org
The gingeometer: http://www.rosbif.org/ukrm/gingeometer/

 

Ta muchly )

Err, no. If you can email me your postcode & house nr., I'll be able
to get there. Scorbydax addie, ta.

--
Lesley
CBR600FW
SBS#11 (with oak-leaf cluster)
BOTAFOT#101A UKRMHRC#12
BONY#54P BOB#18
Real burds don't take hormones, they rage naturally