Trashbaggery

That was the worst sleep in the world. I roll over, my back aches. I blink, my eyes dry, my vision clear (the consequences of sleeping with contacts). My head throbs and it takes me a few moments to gather my bearings. I'm not used to waking up to the artificial lighting of the fluorescent lights. It's only then, that I realise the looseness of my night. I had passed out on the stairs outside my apartment door. Peeling myself off the steps, I wonder how I managed to even sleep on the series of right angled steps.

Standing, I'm overwhelmed with vertigo, I'm still drunk. How long was I passed out for? Looking at my front door I see coins scattered on the floor. I must have been fishing through my pockets looking for my keys. Then in dejection, reluctantly passed out. There's vomit at the base of my feet. I check my pockets for my keys, they're not there. Further frisking reveals that my wallet and phone are no longer with me either. I plod down the flight of stairs, my phone and wallet lying on the landing, my keys another flight down. Lucky this all happened within the confinement of the secure apartment.

Started off at the Dutch Festival and then ended across the road at Zebrano. I want to die. But I can't help but laugh.

My Birthday cameo

I celebrated last year's Birthday completely sober. Read: Completely sober. After 7 successive Birthdays being utterly intoxicated 2008's sober experience felt alarmingly foreign yet somewhat appropriate. This was a sign of things to come, I had mindfully pulled the handbrake on the reckless train of self-destruction. Maturity and self-preservation had prevailed. Unfortunately this was not a forecast of future Birthday processions. It would be a premature call and nothing more than an outlier; a statistical exception.

My recollection of October 9th is hazy at best. I remember being seated at my desk, a head popping up from the monitor in front of me saying "Are we going to the pub for your birthday?". I also remember rocking up to my birthday dinner at the Crown and Goose one hour late and extremely tipsy. I recall ordering the Roast Chicken and Pavlova. I remember not eating the pavlova. I remember a heartfelt Birthday speech. I remember being called "true blue", "a piss pot" and "a bastard". I remember drinking. I also remember being in a cab. I distinctively remember and vomiting 4 times at various places in Trafalgar Square much to the screaming of delirious passersby. I recall spending the best part of 5 minutes in Thai Square. I remember that SMS.


What a Birthday: Bring on 27!