Party Gifts

Having been to the Gift's housewarming party this weekend, and spending the evening as the sole sober person amongst a horde of drunken youth, I have had a truly eye opening experience. Not only is the Gift a lot more ebullient when with this group of friends, but they also have some peculiar proclivities themselves. Rarely have I been encouraged to tie a clock round my neck with a tape measure just to annoy someone, but the very idea produced cheers of encouragement when undertaken with a clock which is surprisingly dear to the Gift's heart, despite the fact that it neither belongs to him, nor actually works.

I was pleased to discover that his most peculiar friend (who spent a good deal of time telling disinterested people about ways in which he claimed to be able to kill them) ended his involvement in the evening when he blew into a scented candle, spattering wax into his own face, and then passed out on the floor in the Gift's bedroom.

Despite not being drunk, I still managed to get involved in a discussion about who would make the ideal combination of porn actors in the unlikely event that the shooting of such a film should break out at the party, and promised to buy one of the attendees a bike for Christmas, thus proving a point made in an earlier post that alcohol isn't necessary for me to behave inappropriately.

I was also privy to this gem of a conversation between the Gift and one of his paler mates about the Boy Wonder and I:

Pat 'You must have seen him topless!'

The Gift 'I told you - they're not those kind of friends.'

All in all, a good time was had by all, and by being sober enough to drive the Boy Wonder and I home at around 3am we were able to avoid the point where Pat pissed in one of the girls' handbags and the sordid carrying ons which took place on the 70's style sofa later that night.

Drunk me vs sober me

Due to the recent requirement for me to give up drinking, I have been spending a lot of time around drunk people whilst sober. This has lead to the surprising discovery (although perhaps only surprising to me) that, apart from the obvious physical effects, I am about the same when drunk as when sober. Although I am aware that I do not enjoy being out of control when drunk and try to avoid getting 'falling over' intoxicated, I kind of assumed that there would be some lessening of my inhibitions when under the influence of alcohol, however it turns out that I was incorrect. I can't quite work out whether I am generally just predisposed to telling inappropriate stories regardless of whether I've been drinking, or whether my dislike of excessive drunkenness (for no more uptight reasons than that I throw up really - I realise it sounds a little like I'm some kind of temperance fanatic) means that I just have a similar approach to sharing no matter how much I've drunk. I can't work out whether that's admirable or stupid, but it's certainly an eye opener.

Coffee, tea and me

I remember when I was at primary school, several of my friends already drank tea but I wasn't really offered tea by my parents, so I always thought I would just grow into drinking it. The first time I had a cup of coffee was when I was 17 and I figured maybe I was just on the cusp of beginning to like things like that. When I went to work in my gap year I decided to take the plunge and drink tea with a vengeance and drank about 8 cups a day at my desk. I'm not entirely sure why as I still thought that tea tasted like dirty hot water, albeit still infinitely preferable to coffee, but I liked having an excuse to get up from my desk as I frequently nearly dozed off whilst working and everyone else worked really hard while I mostly did filing and telling people on the phone to try unplugging their computer and plugging it in again, so I was glad to have something to contribute to the team.

But now I'm nearly 30 and an reaching the conclusion that I am not going to grow in to liking tea or coffee, and something about that makes me feel as though I'm not a proper grown up. If I need help to cope with a hangover, I have to rely on Lucozade (infuriatingly unavailable in the US) and there's nothing to perk me up if I start the day a little sluggishly. Admittedly, when I try to talk to the Boy Wonder before he's had his coffee and he is incapable of forming a coherent sentence, I do feel a little pleased that I am not a reliant on caffeine as he is to live a normal life, but I still can't shake the feeling that I've bypassed a milestone of adulthood somehow.

Married Life

On Saturday night the Boy Wonder and I went out for a birthday meal for our space man friend who has survived to the ripe old age of 32, apparently by pure chance. All was very civilised until the point where he passed out in the foetal position, straddled by a lifesize model of a sheep, with the top half of his body asleep, and his legs dancing away below as though possessed by the weird drunken incarnation of Michael Flatley. However, one of the highlights of my night was when I overheard the Boy Wonder telling saying 'It's great being married - you don't really have to make an effort any more'. Now, I wasn't really concerned about the implication that now, pledged as our troths are, he sees no need to impress me so much as the flagrant lie that he ever made what could even generously be described as 'an effort' before. The night ended up, as so many do when you're a teenager but not so much once you're approaching your 30s, with someone being sick (the Space Man, naturally) and everyone rushing around with various cleaning supplies in an attempt to rectify the problem whilst he called us names and claimed that this was what the teenagers do, so all in all, a succesful evening was had by all!

What do cows hunt?

Last weekend, the Boy Wonder and I toddled down to Brighton to visit our friends, and, save for a slight delay while we dealt with the antics in Naughty Pets Corner, we made it down without any difficulty. We arrived at about 2.30, had begun drinking by 3 and were down on the pier feeding 2p pieces into those moving shelf machines trying to win more 2ps and the occasional packet of sweets. We then moved on to more advanced machines which pay out in tickets, and having won over 400 tickets (largely due to impressive precision on the part of the two doctors on the team) we chose to redeem them for a 'Time Projecting' Batman watch which, as one might imagine, projects the time and the Batman logo onto a wall not more than 1.5 meters away, and only in complete darkness. We returned home to a lovely meal (which was very grown up - roast duck, fancy veg and everything!) and post prandial entertainment in the form of 'parlour games' (as described by our gracious host). On the grounds that neither the Boy Wonder nor I can draw to save our lives, we opted for 'Articulate' over 'Pictionary', which was a good choice as it offered plenty of opportunity for fun describing words and concepts to each other. Widely regarded as the favourites (and both from the slightly inebriated mouth of our surgeon host) were: 'Cows have them' 'Horns?' 'No, they wear them' 'Bells?' 'No - something cows hunt' 'Wha....?' (The answer turned out to be 'Sheepskin') and, possibly even less helpful: 'Hit me with your...' 'Rhythm Stick?' 'No.' (ongoing silence until we look at the card to find that he was trying to describe 'A Plank of Wood'. We were also asked if we wanted to 'quiche' out, a term which we assume is derived from the original verb 'to crash out' but was admirably styled out by our drunken host who explained at some length that he was referring to a state of existence similar to that of a quiche, before trying to encourage us to go out clubbing at 2am before falling asleep in all his clothes. Fortunately his wife is well used to these antics and didn't hold it against us that we did encourage him more than was strictly necessary...

Shopping at Christmas

Yesterday I went to Tesco. I should have thought about it and not gone, but we needed to replenish the alcohol stocks for Christmas as the in-laws are coming over, and I thought I could pick up some light bulbs and Christmas crackers as well. Now, I know that supermarkets have several reasons for keeping all the drinks far from the front door - risk of theft, the hope that as people wander round the shop they will get distracted and buy something else too, not to mention the pretence of relevance which they maintain by keeping 'seasonal items' by the front door - but as far as I am concerned, any place where you are expected to put eggs in your trolley before you get 4 cases of Bow is severely misunderstanding good shopping practice. So, savvy shopper that I am, I loaded up with booze which I then delicately accessorised with a light sprinkling of fruit and veg in order to give the impression that I am not a raging alcoholic. Then I searched for the light bulbs - I started in 'Household Goods', checked the aisle-end displays in case they were hidden there, took a brief spin round the pet food aisle, and then cracked and asked a member of staff. 'They're over by the entrance, in the non-food section where the electrical items are'. I had not realised that light bulbs now came under the heading of 'electrical items', but by this point I wanted to jam light bulbs in my eyeballs, so I just said 'I'll kill myself if I have to go over there again - fuck it, we'll have Christmas in the dark.' If I see her again on one of my many fun jaunts to Tesco, I will apologise as she looked as though she was scared I was going to just abandon my trolley and collapse in a quivering, crying heap. But I pressed on, unsuccessfully trying to make small talk with the surly checkout lady, wrestling my over burdened trolley back to the car and realising only when I got home that I hadn't got the buggering crackers either...

Designated Drivers

I don’t really think about this topic much, but did over the weekend when I realised that the Boy Wonder is not really cut out for being the designated driver. If he is playing, then he tends not to drink anyway, and so will happily drive home, but if not, I really can’t remember more than a few times when he has driven home just so I could drink, and they have normally been from parental visits for some reason. Not that I mind really – when we first got together I couldn’t drive. Having lived in London my whole life, and having had a fraught time learning to drive with the ‘help’ of my father, it never seemed that important to complete the process. When I first moved to Cambridge I lived within walking distance of town, university and work, so never needed to drive then either. However, once I moved in with the Boy Wonder I started to feel guilty that he always drove everywhere and so I had driving lessons with a man who looked an awful lot like Gerry Adams. He did his own talking though, so I knew it wasn’t the real Gerry Adams, and he taught me the rest of what I needed to know to pass my test first time – go me. By this time, the Boy Wonder and I had been together for about three years, so I told him I would drive for the next three years, which I duly did. That was about five years ago, and I am still the designated driver, largely due to the fact that my period of abstinence from alcohol was so prolonged that whilst I was ‘serving my time’ I became a complete lightweight and started falling asleep after a couple of drinks. I also ‘went off’ drinking a bit as I couldn’t find a drink I liked enough to warrant the Boy Wonder driving home. Fast forward to the present, a time when the Bow takes care of all my alcohol needs and we went out last Friday. We had discussed the option of leaving a car in town and getting a cab home, but following the wedding and honeymoon we are both a bit skint, so opted for one of us driving home. A prolonged discussion followed where the Boy Wonder offered to drive, even stating that it was his ‘turn’, then I offered to drive, and it became a case of ‘who will crack first’. I did – I said ‘Alright then, you drive.’ Cue a tragically despondent face from the Boy Wonder, to which my immediate response was ‘Well, you were clearly bluffing weren’t you?’ He claims he wasn’t, but then adds ‘If had known you were going to say that I would have parked somewhere else and got a cab home.’ I order water while he orders a beer, but still the matter is not resolved. We discuss moving the car over dinner, by which point I am beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable about how much fuss is being made over this, and as I still haven’t drunk anything, I offer to drive home again. Boy Wonder is sticking to his guns though, and insists I have some wine. At 3am when we come to leave, and I am still pretty sober having only drunk about three glasses of wine in the last six hours, I realise the futility of this exercise. The Boy Wonder doesn’t want to drive, and I would rather not drink than spend an evening with him looking vaguely saddened by his tee-totality. I also cannot bear another discussion over the matter where he pretends he doesn’t mind, but is unable to arrange his face in an expression that does not convey intense disappointment if I do take him up on the offer. This is not a complaint, but a slightly sickening realisation that I would rather not drink than prevent the Boy Wonder from drinking if he wants to, and I can’t enjoy myself if the Boy Wonder isn’t enjoying himself – I suppose that is a good thing being as we just got married and I should like him and stuff, but it still surprises me how much I really do…