I lived in Norfolk for a few years in me yoof
and being far from fiends and family I often found myself to be somewhat tired and emotional when visited by them.
One Friday night we set off to the local for a few beers, which resolved into a lock-in, and things gradually moved from blurry to blackout.
I do sort of remember going home in the beer Tardis, a walk of around 5 minutes in sober circumstances could become an epic, dizzying roller-coaster ride through the edges of the observable universe on the return leg.
At last home was found and after fiddling with the key for several minutes we fell into the hallway.
I declared myself quite refreshed enough and decided to retire to bed.
A short while later as the house fell into a quiet slumber my poor sister was awoken by an almighty crash from upstairs and fearing the worst rushed up to see what had befallen me.
I had apparently not quite made it to bed. Only feet from my comfy mattress and duvet I had tried to curl up under the bedroom rug and finding it little comfort had pulled it over me forcefully enough to tip an antique mirror fronted Edwardian wardrobe down on top of myself.

This, one would assume, should have woken me but it was not the case.

It seems that all I could do was berate my unfortunate sister for waking me up as she tried to get the furniture off me, so grateful was I to be rescued.

The wardrobe survived unscathed.
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Sun 17 Feb 2013, 2:45, 1 reply)

"Beer Tardis"
Like it.
Stealing it for future use.
Have a clicky
(Big D, Sun 17 Feb 2013, 8:44, closed)