One November a few years ago...
Myself and my flatmate (Neil) were out drinking. We'd consumed a vast amount of booze, but managed to get ourselves home (via a kebab shop, naturally). We got home and headed to bed. I went to sleep easily, due in no small part to the levels of alcohol in my system.

My next memory was of a cold feeling in my feet. I was standing outside my flat. I thought for a moment I was dreaming, but that faded quickly as I turned to see my front door was firmly shut. So there I stood outside the flat in my boxers, feeling cold and confused.

Easy enough to sort this out I thought, I'll just knock and get Neil to open the door. Unfortunately Neil was catatonic and wouldn't wake up. So after quite some time knocking and shouting through the letter box, I wandered outside to see if I could climb up to the flat (it was only first floor). I quickly realised that climbing would be stupid as I was still pissed, never that good at climbing, and concrete would be my crash mat. So, I started scrabbling around for stones to throw at the windows to wake Neil up.

Nothing worked, so I resorted to bellowing through the letter box...I'm sure my neighbours must have thought I was going nuts.

Eventually Neil woke from his slumber and opened the door to be greeted by me in my shorts with muddy feet, looking cold and deeply unhappy. He said he'd heard the stones hitting the windows but thought the noise was in his head!

I haven't been sleepwalking since (as far as I know), but now I always wear a bit more to bed when it's cold outside.
( trebor_minty, Mon 27 Aug 2007, 14:01, Reply)