I don't remember...
All I know is I'd just learnt how to (or how not to) drink at the ripe old age of 17. After 3 lagers, a double barcardi, 2 double vodka's and 4 quadruple Bells we headed to the kebab
shop. As the cold winter air hit my face, my friends told me they helped me across the road. They couldn't make me stand so propped me against a bin. The bus came and they came outside the kebab shop with their chips. I was somehow in the bin. They got my money and paid for the bus. Thats the last of the known story.

I awoke on the kitchen floor surrounded by towels. After thinking - phew - what a state I was in but at least I was coherent enough to not wake my family or cause any damage I went to nurse my hangover in bed.
My mum knocked about lunch time with a cup of tea. "Can you remember your night last night?" were the first words mentioned. "Yes, mum, it was great!" Came the reply.
So you remember the ambulance? "no?". The police? "no?".

From what I gather, the police knocked at my mums door at 2am telling her to come pick up her drunk son. She fobbed it off to my sis and her then bf who followed the police down the road. They saw me being nursed by an ambulance crew who didn't want my in the back of their van due to me being covered in so much vomit. They took me home and dumped me in the kitchen covered in towels so I didn't spew on the floor.

From what I gather, this must have been the worst bus journey of my life. I only made it half way home and have never, 8 years later, been able to remember if I got off the bus to spew or if I spewed and was kicked off the bus into the petrol station before passing out in the middle of the forecourt.

Must have been great for the passengers! Not done it again since but have seen many similar incidents in the fair old land of Croydon!

Length: about one nice warm regurgitated microwave lasagna over cream jeans and my fave shirt!
(Something funny, Fri 30 May 2008, 1:08, Reply)