Sunday fragrant Sunday

A mild version of our night out was depicted in this.

The aftermath of a friends birthday is a  hairy feathery mouth this morning. Evidence also can be seen in the  dry skin, red eyes, palpitations with occasional flashbacks of dancing at a bar. Not on it which has occured in the past so maybe I am more controlled than I used to be.

My old pal Gordon, not known for liking anything other than scuffing around in his battered old leather jacket, jeans and scratched specs. had decreed for his 40th birthday he wanted to go on a pub crawl. What a great idea. Something about the Aberdonian that is happiest in a bar, in a pair of jeans & a t shirt ‘spikkin’ a heap a’ shite’. And I should know I am one.

So 12.30 was the alloted starting time for the gathering of  33 folk who had not been together for 20 years.  We all thought we looked the same. We did.  The eyes were the same but perhaps the surrounding fleshy bits had changed shape a little but all in all it could have been worse.

So the dedicated  started at 12.30.  I am not that bold. So held off til 5.30. By 6 we were in the same place, and you didn’t need to be brandishing a protractor to spot the ones who had started 6 hours earlier,  listing to the left, then the right, then the left again.

What a hoot we had. It was as if we’d seen each other last week. the noise of talking, laughing and hideous stories that were recalled were good for the soul – if bad for the liver.

From bar to bar, halleluiah we ate something too, and on we went until 1am. That was enough. Walking home it seemed a great idea to Skype my pal in Houston, I was with her sister, which we did. Then I got a text this morning to say ‘you fell asleep when you were on Skype last night’.

Nice. Well we were tired, of laughing, drinking, dancing and in need of some shut eye. Though the girl who was with me texted this morning from the train home to say ‘My right eyeball half shut. Who hit me?’ She literally has a shut eye it seems.

Oh well I can take a night like that once every 20 years – but no more. Definately no more than that. Paracetamol and some self control  for the aging crone please……and be quick about it.


Writer & broadcaster.

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