Saw this story in Spanish Goth's blog, and it reminded me of this episode from 1979...
*picture goes wavy as we switch to flashback mode*
Gay friend Andy and I had, after extensive research, found the perfect place to get a decent Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster1 - none other than the World's End Pub in Embra's Royal Mile. All you had to do was bring your own sugar cubes and warn them you were coming so that they could chill the glasses to absolute zero.
We sank a couple, slowly, watching the bubbles rise and the colours swirl as we chatted about life, the universe and everything (when that phrase was still cool). Then a couple more...and...yes, they are very morish, aren't they? Ok, just one more for the road...and one for luck...
tunlbed tumbled out the door much, much later, feeling jusht fine, until the fresh night air hit us. I managed nearly thirty paces (and, come to think of it, must have crossed a busy road) before I went down. "Andy! Andy!" I gasped, "I cannae go on. Here, take my stash for safe keeping!" That's how close we were. He tried to help me up, but my legs had taken on a life of their own, one that involved lolloping about like Jamie Oliver's tongue. So he stashed the hash deep in his pocket and stumbled off up the road and around the corner into the night. Darkness descended...
"Hello, hello, hello," or words to that effect, oozed their way into my stream of conciousness. I chanced my eyesight by cracking open an eyelid. The filth! Thank Christ I was clean. Not counting the vomit on my shoes. Trousers. And shirt.
"Can you tell us where you live?"
"So what are you doing in Aberdeen?"
That woke me up. I clambered unsteadily to my feet.
"I may be drunk, offisher, but I know North Bridge when I see it!" From a loooooooong way below. And why is it spinning?
He must have been in a good mood that night, or near the end of his shift. "On your way, then." I gave him my toothiest smile and staggered off in the general direction of home and bed.
A few days later.
"Hi, Farty! How's life?"
"Hi, Andy." I recounted the tale of my brush with The Law, while we disposed of my stash in the safest possible way. "So *inhale.hold...and release* how did you get on?"
"Oh, I made it all the way round the corner before I passed out."
1Our recipe fell through a wormhole in the space-time continuinuum and landed in my lap at Seacon '79. This was my first and last visit to sunny Brighton, which was a shame because the nudist beach opened in 1980.
Place a sugar cube in the base of a frosted glass.
Add a dash of Angostura Bitters.
One measure of blue curacao.
And one measure of Creme de Menthe.
Fill to the brim with champagne.
After it settles, top up with Parfait Amour.
Stir cautiously and sip.