The Bardswell Games

Had a couple of decent nights in the club over the road. Wasn't really in the mood, things aren't great at home with the wife. But, went over the road for the sixes competition and we gave a fright to a very good team, going 1-0 up and almost taking a second leg to knock them out. wasn't to be but we all felt pretty proud of our little team. The main point is that in this club, which is 2 minutes walk from the flat, sells Stella at only 10p more than Carlsberg. Which is an excuse to get shitfaced. Stella is widely recognised as the best lager around but it's also known as 'wifebeater' for a reason. Gets you pissed real quick. Anyway, last night I went back for a few more at the Women's league charity night. Ended up being roped in to play with 3 ladies, one of whom would sit nicely in the category of 'hubbahubba' but far too young and beboyfriended for any drunken lurching. I just made sure I finished off the 3 games we played to get a bit of pervy uncle hugging going round. Got a couple of cuddly-granny cuddles thrown in ,too, so not a bad night. Oh, another bus stop came my way! Or to translate into Grubbish, another tenners worth of wifebeater....
So things aren't completely quiet, things do still turn up, but it is not as raucously reckless as the younger days. I may be enjoying it more, though. There don't seem to be such bad heads or such embarrassing consequences. Maybe I'm reaching a happy medium of drunk when I can and sober when I need to be. Or maybe I'm just a bit skint and I'm settling for what I can get til the pockets regain the pre-xmas bulge. Who knows. Who cares. I got drunk and pulled a young ladies tits to my chest for a few brief dirty-thoughted seconds.

Objective Update

The time of year is coming when provision has to be made for yuletide medecine. For the glaucoma and all that. Unavailable close to the festivities due to the huge swathe of parties sweeping the land and the universal holiday period, supplies must be brought in early. And then kept in storage. A difficult task...
Anyway contacts have to be made and funds have to be analysed. Getting stoned gives me a xmas feeling anyway, so getting stoned at xmas is the next mission. And a beer lake has to be stocked too. It may be a quiet run up but xmas should be good. I hope. Unless it all goes wrong. Which it might. Oh, bollocks...

drunken escapades part I

In the absence of any recent events of newsworthy nature I thought maybe a trot through a couple of old and fuzzy memories that may be of interest. These events are many but come back to me randomly so will be irregular. Some are a bit cringe-inducing and involve too much vomit for pleasant storytelling but there are plenty of comic ones.
There have been plenty of drunken student type pranks (how many people can we get in a phone box, 2cv, lavvy), and there has been plenty of 'lost in London/Liverpool/Leicester' type adventures that'll be "funny when we look back". That aren't. And there are plenty of tales that only come back when I sit around with old mates who can fill the gaps. A few fights. The odd trip, fall and stumble. And one arrest for exposure.
The one I always think of first when I reminisce about the old glory days was a night in Majorca in the teen years. Not surprisingly there where a few drunken stories from those two weeks but, having woken up in the bathroom after the first night with a puddle of sick still warm and spreading across the tiles to find my two mates AWOL, it is the most memorable. Though obviously, couldn't remember a thing about the events preceding. Luckily I was filled in by the two girls who knocked on the door as I was getting my bearings. We'd had a party in our hotel room after the bar shut with them and some other guys we'd met. Lot's of sangria, naturally, and a bucket load of lager and voddy. Text book stuff. Except where the fuck were the other two? Hospital it'd turned out, I got a call from one of the guys saying he'd jumped out the window, ran across the road for a swim in the sea. Just too much to resist, apparently. Only, after seeing this, the next guy decided it looked cool and broke his foot jumping off the balcony. I was out for the count through all this, having lead the proceedings over the course of the previous afternoon. Bit of a disaster then. Took all day to convince hopalong that he could still enjoy himself in a plaster cast and we needn't jump on the next plane home.
Took a lot less time for me and my other mate to realise we should leave him by the pool while we toured the island with the girls. Nurses it turned out. Everybodies favourite! Drunk at the waterpark, drunk at the beach, drunk in the company of nurses. Maybe not such a disaster for all of us...

Short Break in the Radio Silence

Though strictly speaking on a 'sensible' break, I perhaps should document some of the recent garglings. I have taken up friday nights at the local drink 'n' darterie. In order to prevent myself from getting completely out of my usual match fitness, you understand. Managing the budget in these straightened times has not been easy but I am managing ok by sticking to the one vice of slurping only. Last weekend for example was pretty drunken. The previous friday necking session was the first of the fiscal month, so the neck muscles well-oiled. Saturday was the wife's turn for heading out so I got the usual 6 for a fiver and made sure I was unfit to drive. Sunday then gave me an excuse to go out and see Arsenal beat Chelsea while Spurs were losing to Everton. (snigger). This is cause for celebration so the flow was unhchecked for a while. This weekend, while not hefty, was acceptable in the current economic climate and further proof that this experiment will work, given the right careful planning. Unfortunately planning is the weak point of the spontaneous lifestyle and now I'm skint til the 15th.

Just a word on the 6 cans thing. It is possible to sustain a full blown alcoholic life on much less a day. The big 2 litre bottles of ridiculously strong cider the offy's tout for 2 quid will go a long way towards a days oblivion. But I always think there needs to be a quality to a man's drunkeness that is not catereed for here. And anyone who drinks it or Special Brew or Tennants Super has no such standards. And a drink problem. Which may sound a harsh thing to say from someone who is attempting to regain a youthful appetite for perusing the beers and spirits aisle of life's supermarket but there you go. I don't have the need to drink, but I do have the desire to be 'off it'. This is not exclusively tailored to booze, so where does this place me in the world of ____ anonymouses? Nowhere really. I have lost friends to alcoholism and I know what it takes to be given the title. Though I have at times been sometimes alarmed at how much in common my life can have with the addicted. This is usually a social thing though. I tend to have cleary defined starts and finishes to my drinking bouts and if I get bored I go home. This is true with drugs also. I don't make a habit of the more addictive ones and go long periods without.
And there is too much else I enjoy in life to allow me to become the one dimensional person you need to become to give in to addiction.

Anyway, now I've reassured myself, I can look forward to getting 'fuckola'ed on the 15th :)

Reality Interruption

I am going to have to suspend this experiment for a while. Too many commitments are barreling towards me with xmas and my daughters birthday and all sorts of shit. Money is just not going to be available for wasting on myself. I feel I have shown that it is possible to make a decent attempt at the objective but it will need more structured thinking.

In the meantime I may start a brief blog on more urbane matters. Speak to you soon.

Going on the Borrow

I could have a very good weekend coming up. Thing is, I'd need about 40 squidlings. I have about none. It turns out the wife used the last of the pot to pay her mobile out of OUR cash and not HER cash. Which means I paid half. Which is why I'm looking at a weekend of telly and xbox not beer and fags.
The answer to this is to borrow til it's sorted. But from who...
My parents are always skint, my siblings are either skint or using their cash, my mates are useless.
Borrowing has always been a necessary evil. Many times has a wage packet been cut in half by the repayment of loans or pawned goodies. This means more borrowing til you can gradually borrow less each week til you are somewhere near straight. Or you have to flog your telly. I have been known to book holidays from jobs that forward you that weeks cash just to get straight. Not recommended though, the week off has to be spent working from agencies or you spend it all in the pub in a day or two.
The answer is to spend your time with cans at home and not the pub, and a big bag of weed (and I mean weed, NOT skunk!). As the poet said 'weed will get you through times of no money better than money will get you through times of no weed'. Unfortunately being unprepared for the extent of my skintness I have made no provisions. So.
Can you lend us a bullseye?

Losing Momentum

Well, a pleasant evening, a couple of beers and a bit of darts. But not anywhere the policy of blotto. It's all going wrong. I'm not sure where all the money went. I know I did spend a fair bit but I thinky wifey might be squirreling some away for 'sensible' reasons. The coming month is party month and I must find funds that will last. Something Must Turn Up!

Er..... if I... er

Darts tonight and no cash. Tricky one. Especially annoying as I have been relying on tuesdays as the only reliable night for assured drunkeness. I have 4 squid. We shall see.

Life on Mark

That was a close one. Friday, total washout, saturday, great stuff. Didn't end til 6am. Never got to see my brother, his pick-up was all long and he just called it quits. Still, I had a few tins and got slightly sozzled. Saturday was cool though, my mate Mark, he of the sudden disappearance returned with a score he owed me. So we had a few watching Arsenal stuff United in the pub. Then my Father-in-law came down to take us all to the social club for a karaoke. (he is unaware of the impending disnuptialisation). And he stood in the chair so beers all round! Got mangled in a reasonably civilized way, polished off the beer in the fridge while I stayed up to watch Calzaghe fight Roy Jones Jr.
Life has been more raucous but I will settle for that after the friday and when you're skint you take what you can get. The money has run out rather too quick though. May need to plan more carefully.

Beer and Fags and Chips and Gravy

Wife's out tonight so I am seeking to find an oasis of Zonk in the trek across the desert of reality. Little bruv has been negotiated with and we shall hope for the best but I am getting some beers in to be safe.
What an exciting life I lead!

Amusing Incident

Er, not entirely related to the experiment but I spent a few hours today in the custody of police. Just thought I'd mention it. It is possible that my brief sojourn into the waking world has stunned me a little, shocked me into a foul temper. I was not aware that calling a bank manager a wanker was a terrible crime but apparently it's serious enough to be arrested in the middle of a large Sainsbury's supermarket as I tried to buy a tin of bombay potatoes. Which means the "rozzers" went to all the trouble of trailing me through the high streets cctv!
Thing is he was about 10, worked in a bank and was ginger. So they had to let me go with a caution. It WAS an inconvenience. Sort of like a very dull episode of "The Bill".
It is a irony that there have been many arrestable offences in my chequered past that have been ignored and I get a caution for calling a banker a... well, a merchant...
As to my crimes of the past, most would obviously be possession, possibly a little bit of very minor dealing, and the odd piece of profitting from lax security at work. Nothing nasty. I did spend a night cell-bound once after mooning a police car, I was very drunk and hadn't noticed it's large blue rooflights. The major mistake was doing it at a roundabout when they were practically stopped right next to me. It is amazing I haven't been more noticed by the cops. I did live in London through most of my reckless criminality and it must have been very small fry compared to the real baddies. Still...
Anyway, I have revenge to plot....

Sahara!

Now begins a dry spell. Ran out of money for the time being and the magic tin has emptied. Still coasting on the tail end of last nights drunkeness, but everything is starting to become very real looking. I don't like it.
This has to happen or I would disappear up my own arsehole. I need to sort a few things out. Shopping today, then some proper housework. Christ, I need a spliff. How can I cope with normality? It's so BORING. No, no, must be strong. Shops, vacuum, wash up, tidy toys away.
These dry spells, as I've mentioned, are vital to the body, the finances and the state of the flat. And it's not as bad as it used to be. For the sake of my daughter I have been sober as a judge for most of the days, only descending into the netherworld of opium eating at night. Without the opium, that was a metaphor.
These daily waits for stupefaction are bearable as there is the prize at the end of the day of a long lounge on the couch, a telly, an xbox, and a few tins of beer. Add a touch of doobie and leave to chill. Maybe not a hellraising night out but suits me. I do get plenty of nights out, two or sometimes three a week. I love a pub. But the truth is it doesn't matter as long as you multiply the beer with the joints. Everything is sweet.
Now, there is no promise of these pleasures. The telly will still go on. The xbox may. There is no more beer or doobie but it can still be a pleasant evening. Maybe a movie, a few comedy shows on the Dave channel. It's just not the same. Why not? I will be more able to appreciate the evening, having fuller use of my senses. Just won't have that cloud of loveliness that settles above me as I lie sprawled on the couch, ash tray on my chest, tin on the coffee table and Radio Times open beside me.
Makes all the difference.
Before, in my younger years, freer of responsibilities than now. I could get stoned all day at work and pissed straight after in the pub. The weekends were a mishmash of whatever was available. Mostly lager punctuated with little trips somewhere to smoke a bit of weed. Often speed and coke, ecstasy and once a bit of temazepam nicked from a pharmaceutical warehouse I worked in, I was in charge of dumping the stock that only had 12 mths or less on the sell-by. (I jacked that in after a couple of months, even I knew it was a bad thing, would you let Olly Reed run a brewery?)
So the dry spells were BAAAAD! Skint and awake (shudder) work is murder, the clocks never move, the pubs seem to be taunting me as I trudge past, looking in the window for a mate who owes me a couple. And back in my rented room, in front of the same shit that kills me when I'm monged, I sit glassy eyed and bored as fuck.
They were rare then, evil but rare. As I've mentioned, the buddy system was in place with a few really good like minded mates and my room was only 50 quid a week all in when I was peeling off well over 200. Usually they came when I switched jobs through boredom or was being paid wages monthly (shudder again). They will me more common now but not unbearable.

Still, I REALLY want a spliff.

And a beer.
Pubs have been open half hour...

Tired and Emotional

Nice, almost a week in a haze. Should just get to the further reaches of this week before a rude awakening. I'll need a recuperate then so I will be more blog-ready. I'll check in after tuesdays darts. Love you! xxx

pitstop

Just a brief line to update. Very stoned, bit pissed, quite content for the last couple of days. Immediate future looks similarly veined. Ciao bella!

Arsenal 4-4 Tottenham Hotspur

Well, stoned enough to get over the disappointment of the result and pissed enough to have spent the night shouting at the telly in the pub. Only vague memories of the match even though I watched the highlights when I got in. Do know it was great fun and a textbook evening in terms of the overall aim. Not too damaging on the accounts or the stock either. Mixing and matching seems to be working. I have a well stocked fridge and the magic tin is far from empty.
So, I am getting close to the lifestyle of my younger days. The football helped last night, I spent many hours of stupefaction due to a certain result in days gone by. Memorably (sort of), having watched Arsenal complete the double in '98, I came to my senses at a barbecue two days later with nobody I knew or have ever seen since I excused myself and left. Quality celebration.
Of course, losing creates the same excuse for a binge and losing the cup final to Liverpool had more or less the same effect in '00 or '01 (can't remember and I'm still too hungover to check). I got through a LOT of coke that night and was skint for weeks. Slightly less enjoyable but all within the spirit of the age.
The result can be a spur but the contest itself is enough to spark a bout of boozing. I have forgotten every detail of the time England went to Munich and beat Germany 5-1, because I had gone to an Irish pub with a mate to watch his lot beat Holland an couple of hours before our game. I missed the two goal turnaround of Man U's champions league victory because I'd gone to do a fat line before extra time started. This list is long and I won't go further but the point is sport in pubs is a great thing for a boozer.
Not, I suppose, that I have ever needed much encouragement...

Trust no-one!

Another fine display of boozing at the darts match (we'll gloss over the performance ) followed by a spliff-fuelled TW09 sesh til 5:30am. Tuesdays are wrapped up now. Sorted. Just one problem, cash is draining away and still reliant on my bruv to fetch the gear. The cash SHOULD last but there are all sorts of 'extra' drinking obligations cropping up. For example, the Arsenal v Tottenham game is tonight and that'll be a score at least. I am unable to refuse this sort of opportunity when there is cash in the bin, even knowing there are boozy commitments already pencilled in. It is the rules of the game. And I do love a swig or two.
On the other matter, reliance on other people can be dodgy. As you may have read, little bruv has already taken advantage of my need of him to make sure he stays spliffed til the next dole cheque. Not that I'm out of pocket or gear. Maybe it has even stretched the life of the purchase. Latest development is of some concern though. Having layed out a twenty I recieved a tenbag that had been opened and the explanation that yours 'fell out my shoe on the way back' so I was given his own with the promise to make it up next friday. Hmmmmm. Course,
I had to let him have a couple of joints too...
This brings me to the dealers. You need to have access yourself, not 'get me some when you pick up?'. This is riddled with uncertainy, and you can't argue with a word like 'riddled'. So, you need your own. In fact, you need two. There are plenty of dry spells and a back up is needed, but the point is you go and buy your own gear. Not as easy as it sounds as stoned people can be paranoid. I'm not myself but someone is telling people I am, and if I find them...
Ahem, sorry.
Anyway, if you get on good terms with your guy, and use him regularly, your deals will get better and so will the quality. There have been plenty of times when picking up for a mate at the same time, I've bought a bigger quantity to get a better deal and not passed on the saving. This is standard practice and no-one technically loses out. It all means I need to sort out my own and stop relying on my brother.
You see, with drugs, don't trust relatives, friends, business associates. NEVER girlfriends. They are in the perfect position to take advantage. I've lost count of the time someone who really shouldn't has given me the old 'the wrap was loose, it's come out in my pocket' when dispensing the odd line. Or my personal favourite 'sorry, I dropped it in a piss puddle by the bog'. Thing is though, with the Gianluca, it's so bloody expensive that people will. Weed and hash is not about money it's about staying high. Skunk is a bit more costly so it can be both reasons. So, watch your friends, spy on your brothers and follow you lover. And life will be just great!
Anyway, things to do before I can head off to the pub before the derby game.

Post Match Debrief

A very successful weekend. The delays in getting the gear and cash meant everything coincided and added up to the most mangled I've been for an entire weekend since... well, I can't remember.
There are things I'm going to need if this enterprise is to be as fruitful every weekend, though. I'm going to need gear from a more reliable source for one thing, and I'm going to need a partner in crime. I think I may be babysitting next saturday so I definately need some spliff. And cans. Then I can just play online golf all night. So, that will mean I shall have to make the most of darts night and try to get out friday, which I almost never do lately. It used to be the pinnacle of the week for me. Got paid, picked up, got in the pub straight from work and never looked back til sunday evening. This is obviously never going to happen once a child is on the scene.
This is a sticking point in the plan of eternal inebriation. I have no desire to be out of it when my daughter is relying on me. So where does she fit in to the lifestyle? Simple answer is she doesn't so two lifestyles have to be maintained, a sensible parenting attitude needs to be married with an irresponsible reckless one. This is something that will be severly put to the test during the experiment. So far it hasn't been a problem as there are two parents under the same roof and care has been shared but I don't know how long that is to continue. It has to be said I would rather curtail my stupor than let my daughter down. So if it comes to it this attempt at recapturing a lost youth is doomed, but for a reason I would cheerfully accept. For now though, while the care is shared, I will continue in my mission and see where it all takes us.

Vague Rememberings

Jesus! That's good gear. Or am I just low on tolerance? Never mind, for once I had plenty of cash, enough gear for the weekend and Fuck upon Fucks! Not only was I required as a guinea pig for someone unsure of a new coke dealer, I got my Sash cash!! Now, obviously this is where this project falls down as the very thing I'm attempting to catalogue is a misty haze so it won't make much sense. The important things to know is:
1/ I got wankered
2/ I stayed wankered
3/ I have the means to get wankered again
I now intend to get slowly fucked in front of the telly and just maybe the events of saturday night may start to organize themselves into some order or other. Right now, I'm happy with the blur...
Boom Shanka :)

Proper Mangled

Beer, spliff, played darts, charlie, blond girl with nursey uniform, watched footy in pub, too much walking. Maybe more will come back later.

and... RELAX!

Finally the spliffs turned up and top skunk it turned out to be. One doodie did me all night, which means that tenbag will last all weekend. And the money cleared for the month so there is plenty of that for the weekend, too. So decisions have to be made. I will report on the success of the venture when I've forgotten it all :D

The Buddy System

In the meantime, a quick word on the buddy system. It is apparent simply by scanning this blog that it is almost impossible to get through a hedonistic life without obstacles. Unless you are 'of independant means'. So as I've already shared, it is vital to have people on your side. And as has become apparent, blood is not thicker than THC and my drinking partner is conspicuous by his absence. The buddy takes the slack of times between, in the knowledge that you're skint because you were having to sub him last week. A friend of mine in Walthamstow and I managed to go several months high as kestrels while neither of us had regular work. When a cheque turned up supplies were bought, friends weighed out and profits were shared. It's all a little Arthur Daley but needs must. The partnership has to be strong as the cheques can be erratic and unevenly spread but the profits have to be equal. It is a case of trust and not counting too much. Girlfriends tend to upset this balance but you can work round that. A workmate buddy is the dream system. You are both working and in constant contact. This works very well for doobies but not so good for drinking.
Drinking is an all together harder discipline. You can't buy and sell legal substances with such ease. So in these situations drinking must take a back seat, but with a good mate you can always rely on a good weekend however lowly the pockets are. You are always willing to return the favour. I always tend to gravitate towards the more alcoholic workmates because top drinkers tend to prefer company, as this stops them feeling like tramps. Having mentioned tramp avoidance, I have spent plenty of time standing on street corners, hanging round in bookies' and sitting under bridges cos my drinking buddy is a bit TOO soaky and Tenants Super cans are produced at the most inappropriate times. But a buddy must be indulged. I never said this would be glamourous....
Trouble is, for the purposes of the grand plan, the buddy system isn't around. This is mainly because it is hard to maintain while in a relationship and I am still entangled in mine for the time being. Also, having left London for Essex recently the network has failed.
This is going to have to fixed quick sharp.

(audible sigh)

OK, so if your own brother is gonna smoke all your gear and make you wait til he's picked up again, who can you trust?
Anyway, time to formulate a plan for the weekend....
Er....
I'll get back to you....

GGRRRR!!!

Well, it is proving tough to get my gear as little bruv seems to be full of excuses at the mo. I suspect he has used my stuff and is waiting for his next dole cheque to get more and sort me out then. Not happy.
Still, it highlights the old adage. Don't rely on dopeheads. Now my attention turns to the months cash due to arrive on the 26th. A bloody saturday, will it clear, who knows. Banks are scum. If I get my gear and hold of Sash then a great weekend, if not I may be ready to start throwing my toys out the pram. Got to stay in friday cos the wife's got plans so gear will be the priority...
I tell you what, when this money does clear, next month will have to be more successful or I may admit defeat.

Sash the Window

Where the fuck is my cash, Sash???? Another weekend looms...

King of the Random Tenner!

WooHoo!! Bus stop winner again, another tenner just at the point were I'd spent the first of the night. And for some reason the barmaid was charging me a quid less than my mate for a pair of pints. Maybe I should concentrate all my efforts on tuesdays, they seem to be the most beerily productive days.
Having said that, after last weeks spectacular display from the team, we were pretty woeful and got stuufed 8-1. It was an away match and one of the top teams but we had chances to win more games and never took them. Maybe in my case I was too pissed. I was first away last week, and on 6th here. Never good news when you are steaming through as many pints as possible.
Also on the negative side, my bruv never made it which meant my skunk never made it. Fair enough, I should get it today but a worrying piece of news has emerged. The guys I asked to call for him to give him a lift found him home with the tv blaring but could see him through the window, cotched on the sofa, dead to the world so they left him. Hmmmm...
Still, a good beery night, Arsenal had a great result, and again it was reasonably cheap to get pissed. We shall see how I get on with my baggie later...

Back on Track!

While I can't actually be PLEASED my wife fell down the stairs at work, it does mean that, while she can't walk anywhere, that I have control of the bank card. You see, the joint bank account is in her name alone, a fact she has been using to try and control the cash which is supposed to be shared. Of course she is the main bread winner at the moment and she begrudges me my share, while conveniently forgetting that she has never brought as much cash into this marriage as I have. All of which I shared. But I'm touching on a rant here so I shall move on, let's just say, having already worked out this months budget, I don't have to wait til all the money is in and all bills paid before I can start spending. So the rents paid and the council tax, a ten bag of White Widow is speeding it's way towards me as I type and a score lies pocket bound for the darts tonight. What could possibly go wrong?

Only that last time we played the team from the Bull it erupted into violence...

A Brief Word on the Radar

Now, you see, it's only to be expected, come the end of the month there will be a system in place and the game can be played in earnest. I shall have to think about last week as a trial run, and try to get through the next week as best I can. A lot of the problem is that my main mucker chose to suddenly drop his life and bugger off into hiding for a few reasons, some wise to follow. Others clearly not, but...
It is always important to have likeminded souls about as everybody takes their turn in the chair, knowing they will be standing in need soon. This is one of the laws of continuous stupefaction that I may list soon during the next dry spell.
For now, though, I will return to the days when all this just came naturally. The main thought that occurs when getting nostalgic for the times I can barely be sure happened is actually how I managed to function at all during some pretty heavy sessions. Yet I always seemed to wake, however painfully, in my own bed. Well, when I say always... A quick run through of alternative waking points include a bench at Penge railway station and under a tarpaulin in Mill Hill, several random bushes and a police cell (miraculously just the once). All these resting places have their own story but it would be stretching the memory to recount too much of them. This is not unusual in the world of drunkeness and only serves to punctuate the many thousands of times a drunk will stagger home unerringly from even the furthest boozer. It used to be a habit of mine to miss the last train from Charing X on a saturday night when I was living in Lewisham and having to walk from the west end, battered as fuck, down the Old Kent Road, through New Cross and home without getting mugged, lost or asleep in a back garden. Why the hell I even bothered going out for a drink in the west end amazes me now though I WAS young and girls were probably involved. I do remember once pawning my entire James Bond video collection just for a night out cos two gorgeous french girls were going to be there. 17 fucking quid! waste of time but I still went. Had to bunk the train for a start, luckily there was a huge crowd so I could doctor the round buying in my favour (a technique that forms the basis of another law but be patient, dear reader). Somehow I never got to spend much time with the angels of France but ended up chatting with some Finnish girls. Unfortunately my fanny magnet friend was with me so I was assigned the hideous one, but undeterred, I ploughed on. Now, I always find with foreign girls abroad that opening with showing an interest in their country is the best way. The slight pull of homesickness will make them more receptive to a bit of affection shown. Not with Igorina though. I could have chatted eloquently about Hakkinen, Makkkkinenen and Litmanenenen but it's never advisable to use sport as a way into a girls heart. So I professed a quite genuine love for the films of Aki Kaurismaki and was beaten over the head with my poor pronunciation followed by a diatribe about how shabbily I was dressed. Nice.
I've always been scruffy, as I am vaguely alternative in my tastes and never been shy of retro shops and Oxfam but maybe when you are in the west end people expect more than tatty chic. Anyway, you see, the budget rarely stretched... and I had them vids to get out of hock.
So, the long lonely walk home begins, worse for wear and alone again. I must remember why I am trying to relive these times again...

Harrumph!

Well, that was a bit shit, really. A quieter saturday than usual. Maybe I should have built up some funds before setting out on this journey. All I got was a few cans in front of Match Of The Day....
All a bit disappointing after such a great start but I shall not be bowed as a whole the week was quite a success with no money or plans at the outset so we shall see what the next week brings. Perhaps I shall relate some of the past experiences of drunken disorderlies in order to further explain the intentions. In the meantime, I have still not quite given up on the sunday....

...bored...

There are times when on the search of the constant stupor that you will have to be sober. To recover, to restock funds and to tidy up a bit. These sober spells don't actually prevent the reaching of the 'forget the decade' goal as they are so boring they are impossible to recall. And with a bit of luck they can be minimised.
So there is nothing to report, except plans are under way for the weekend, which are unfortunately relying on other people. Sash the Window being the main hope.

Smmooooooooth...

And.... cut! This could have been scripted so far, everything is following it's course and providing almost exactly the required ambiance to return me to the time when all problems were lost somewhere inside the muddy blur of my life! I say almost as this time around I seem to stop quite often to express a bit of back pain. It is ironic that it seems scripted as this type of life is by nature an improvisation but the experience of living it will hone those skills and a kind of sixth sense, an instinct, will take over and, more often that not, you can land squarely on your feet after the clumsiest of stumbles.
Well, little bruv turned up with 2 big skunk spliffs just after I'd got young missy to bed, the wife was round a mates and there was footy under way on the telly. The grand plan is working like I couldn't have expected! Within 2 days of the scheme I already feel 20 years younger in mind if not body. I now have to wonder if this can be continued, is this just a flavour, will it be episodic or will it just tail off.
Obviously, from here, descriptions of last night will be hard as everything is great when you are stoned. The match was great, we won 3-1 away to a side whose passing and movement was great, a great result. We enjoyed some great cakes and some tea. Then golf on the xbox was great fun. Great night. And that's all I can say. There were laughs, thrills and periods of intense concentration. I am sure you have been there...
Young bruv has promised a cut of his next oz next week as a late birthday pres which would go down pretty well. Which leaves me with the weekend approaching and no plans. I have a clear idea of what I'd LIKE to do but the means may be a problem. I shall have to go and give it some thought, and besides the place is a mess after last night. Dyson time!

Warming to the Task

15/10/08 (still)

And there you have it, an evening planned of spliffs in front of the England match followed by a session on Tiger Woods PGA Tour 09! I would have to say this is clouded with the suspicion it may never happen. Such is the way when organising evenings of this kind.
My brother phoned just now to wish belated birthday greetings and explain why he was not at the darts last night. As is usually the reason, he picked up a huge wad of green and got quietly wasted at point of purchase. By way of apology he is bringing over a small measure to assist in the grand plan.
Something always turns up.
Hopefully...

Still Got It!

15/10/08

Great night! Started out with 6 quid, got smashed! Feel shit now. Maybe write some more after a kip...

(later)

Human again. And quite proud of myself, verging on smugness. Not only did I turn a bluey and a wet tuesday into a fun night of drunken bawdiness, I played some superb darts, in a team that romped home looking clearly semi-pro title contenders one and all! (7-2 to us if it matters, I won both my matches 2-0 in (singles and pairs) and was the type of bollocks the dog visits the plastic surgeon to have created)
The night started out without to much optimism rolling around, as I say, there wasn't too much coinage of the realm knocking about. I have been expecting some cash to come from a few days moonlighting I had done with a window fitter (hilariously called Sash... never mind) a few months ago. There had been numerous excuses as to why I have had to wait so long for the cash, including one of "sorry, I'm in Germany", but out of the blue and unprompted he got in touch and said he'd pop round with the cash in the evening. Unfortunately this did not turn out to be the something that always turns up so I had to borrow a tenspot from Frosty the Snowwife.
Maybe at this point I should mention that although there is a divorce being sought, my wife has yet to actually physically leave me. This is relatively awkward and I don't really feel it would be right at the moment to expand on this situation here. All in the fullness of time, dear reader...
Anyway, now the money is reasonable for at least the beginnings of the great experiment, can I return to the carefree abandonment of the past. Well taxi's were foregone and the smallest pouch of tobacco purchased and Best Speed To The Pub! Well, drizzly 2 mile trudge at least.....
But, as I have mentioned it turned out really well, we were playing at home which is a social club so beer is cheap, I had the birthday to play on for the odd extra pint and I won the bus-stop so an extra tenner! All in all, though I got pretty drunk, it may not have been the most raucous return to the fray but I think that an easing into the life may be more appropriate for a man of my many years. Stage 1 accomplished. Stage 2 may be more complicated, as substance abuse was never limited to alcohol. Actually, I never abused any substance, there were all used correctly in a manner designed to get wasted to the maximum potiential of the chemical in question. Abuse of a drug in my view means spilling it out of the wrap into your pocket or a badly rolled joint that lets the smoke all pour out the side before it gets to the roach....
This may take a bit more thought. For now though, the head has started complaining again.

In The Beginning.. there was Grub

14/10/08

So, I'm 40. Not a big deal really, but I find I can divide my life neatly into decades so far and that means this is a new stage in my life. Thus it DOES become a big deal. To add to this, it seems the last chapter of my life is closing with a clean finality that means there is no natural path suggesting itself, and most of my life has been pretty much a series of events, all linking smoothly from one to the next. All major leaps of direction have coincided with major events and also with the start of a new decade.
This time, though, there is need for a decision on which direction to take. Having lived my life in married bliss through most most of my 30's, I have decided to make a return to the muddied blur of my 20's. This decision perpetuated by my wife's desire for divorce, and the failure of the experiment of marriage has left me in no doubt that it is inadvisable for me!
So, it's me, me, me? Not quite, I have a daughter, soon to be 5, who doesn't need to say much to get me cake dispensing and may be just about the best thing that ever will occur in the whole stretch of earth-walking that will be documented here. This I am in no way uncomfortable with, as unconditional love is fairly unbeatable!

Anyway, to the business of this 'muddied blur'. Any recollection I have of the period I am attempting to recreate will be sporadic and unreliable as I have titled them well enough to cover the whole decades mood. There will be relevance to the Utopian decade that seperates the two more pertinant ones as there is are events contained that are caused by others some years earlier and was, in itself, far from staid and abstentious.

In fact the day begins with a mixture of both the manic pace of my 20's and the domesticity of my 30's when I awaken an hour late and have to rush my daughter to school! I blame my oversleeping on a bizarre dream that interrupted my sleep last night. I was called into action battling three 10ft crocodiles, only to be thwarted at what seemed to be the moment of victory by a fourth... I have applied a very literal interpretation to this dream.
As it was, I managed to get my rather shell-shocked daughter up, dressed, fed, and bussed to school as the bell began to ring. This, i feel, is testament to the power of WHAT'S BEST FOR MY DAUGHTER as I would have rolled over and got the sack had the situation been differant. But there will be time for the whole 'me and work' story later maybe, though I would say I love HAVING a JOB, I just haven't yet found a JOB I want to HAVE. If this doesn't make sense it is not important right now, but I would expect it will cause flickers of recognition across many a face.

Having negotiated the school run, and having been invited out for a coffee with an old friend the day was calming to the point where I had to start thinking of how to get the direction of my life from the family show of recent years to the yoof tv so prelevant during my 20's. A decision made more urgent somehow by my friend, who had his own 40th some 6mths earlier, passing on the news that he was now a gout sufferer. Gout had previously been something I had in a box marked 'unnecessary knowledge'. It does though, raise an important fact. I am trying to bring about an attitude to life and a lifestyle of someone I was when I was twenty years younger. I can only say I recognise this fact and we shall just have to 'see how it goes'. I am under no illusions as to how comparable the two decades will be, but I am curious to see how it all turns out. I am not, in all truth, expecting any sort of happy ending. As will probably become apparent, my 'wild years' where not glamourous or productive in any way. In fact, this whole change of direction may be about unfinished business with an unfulfilled youth.

But as I will shortly be off to collect my lovely little girl (Shannon, by the way), I should set out the beginning of the whole endeavour. As fortune has it, I am required to head out tonight for the first fixture of a new season with the darts league. Great, I think, a night in the pub! Just the right place to start recreating a youth I can barely recall. Rather predictably though, I am skint! This may not be a bad thing, my youth was punctuated with many periods when I had to improvise and bluff my way to unrembrance and this could be a test of how my innovative side has fared in a world where decisions have been straightforward and simple, by virtue of being on behalf of others. We shall see what happens, I am feeling it may all hinge on the luck that led me to discover a very important factor of my younger days. The knowledge that something will always turn up was enough to get me out there long enough for something to actually turn up!