Cocktail, drink-driving, piddled pants, escaped loony storyWell, not really a flatmate but a mate who let me stay at his flat for the first (and probably last) time. The story was this.... me and 2 mates had been on a weekday night out in Newcastle and rather overdone things. Going to a cocktail bar and trying all the cocktails on the list was probably not the best idea in retrospect. Anyway, was so trolleyed that I had to be carried into and dumped on the back seat of a mate's car who then drove myself and other mate home. I was far too well gone to notice that mate no.1, who was driving the car, was also completely pissed - a consequence of which was several near misses with over vehicles, lampposts and other obstacles on the 20 mile journey home. I was too well gone to actually get home so mate no.2 let me and mate1 stay at his place. They bundled me into bed and the next thing I remember is that's it's the early hours and my mate is shouting to me, 'Wake up, you dirty bastard, you've wet the bed'. Unfortunately I had indeed soaked the bed, with him in it. To make matters worse mate2 (whose flat it was) then found mate1 having a piddle on the kitchen floor. Needless to say we haven't had an invite back since.
The next morning however he did let me borrow a pair of tracksuit bottoms to walk home in. So there I was walking home with hair all over the place, a creased 'going out' shirt on, 'going out' shoes on (stained with sick), a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a carrier bag containing my heavily piddled pants. Must have looked like an escapee from a mental institution. To make matters worse I was laughing to myself all the way home which must have made me look like a right fruitcake. To compound matters further, I decided to cut through the local mental hospital to avoid being seen by work colleagues or anyone else who knew me. I had to climb over a wall to get out of the back of the mental hosp which must really have looked like I was an escapee then. Luckily the 'men in white coats' didn't try to drag me back in.
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Mon 24 Nov 2003, 13:15,
archived)
The next morning however he did let me borrow a pair of tracksuit bottoms to walk home in. So there I was walking home with hair all over the place, a creased 'going out' shirt on, 'going out' shoes on (stained with sick), a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a carrier bag containing my heavily piddled pants. Must have looked like an escapee from a mental institution. To make matters worse I was laughing to myself all the way home which must have made me look like a right fruitcake. To compound matters further, I decided to cut through the local mental hospital to avoid being seen by work colleagues or anyone else who knew me. I had to climb over a wall to get out of the back of the mental hosp which must really have looked like I was an escapee then. Luckily the 'men in white coats' didn't try to drag me back in.