Tuesday, 24th May, 2005

Indoor Camping

I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you.

Every once in a while, things happen in my life — things usually driven by copiously excessive intakes of red wine — that provide me with story potential and Things To Hold Court With In A Pub for months on end. Last year's dinner with the External Assessors, for example, was the birth of my year-long self-loathing over the Eddie Izzard and the Napkin incident.

So, perhaps, there's a brief, fleeting hope in everyone's minds that the same excursion a year later would provide similar entertainment (at my expense)

But, well, I'm afraid it didn't

True, I drank way too much, and had numerous rambling, pointless conversations with people I probably shouldn't have. But actually, there was no Story Potential.

Well, not much anyway.

Humiliating Story: 1

It's 2am, and Siobhan is in the house of one of the senior members of staff. There has been a lengthy discussion about Stuff™ during which time Siobhan has probably shown herself up for (a) being always up for a rant, no matter what the subject matter, and (b) being terribly terribly drunk.

It's 2.15am, and Siobhan's colleagues (the two that are left), decide that that's enough for one day and go to bed.

It's 2.20am, and Siobhan realises that she needs the toilet — and vaguely remembering something about "Top of the stairs, turn left" (as is the rule for all toilets), she ventures into the unknown (never having been to that house before)

It's 2.21am, and Siobhan is halfway up the stairs, feeling a bit wobbly.

It's 2.21am (and 10 seconds) and Siobhan is lying at the bottom of the stairs, figuring out whether or not she can hold onto her bladder until the morning.

...

I have no idea what happened, or quite how I came to fall down the stairs. All I remember is lying there thinking "ow".

...

Have you ever noticed that after each and every Random Drinking Extravaganza there's always some Mystery Injury that confounds explanation, but hurts like hell? For most of this morning, I just couldn't quite work out why my elbow was bruised and hurting.

Then, I remembered the stairs.

Ah. That'll be it...

Humiliating Story: 2

This one has more comic value — less slapstick though...

So, as you've probably worked out, I crashed out at my colleague's house last night. ("Crashed" being the operative word). Just before he went to bed, he put some bedding out for me, and arranged some sofa cushions in a crude attempt at a 'bed'

Thing is though, I was so pissed that I couldn't really work it all out. I was also probably a little concussed from my tête à tête with the stairs...

So I just grabbed what was close to hand, rolled my coat up as a pillow, and pushed all the cushions out of the way 'cos they were too squishy.

Which is why, when my colleague stuck his head round the door in the morning to tell me it was time to get up, he was greeted by the sight of me doing a 'thumbs-up' from underneath a carry-mat that I'd been futily using as a duvet.

The gutting thing though, was finding a duvet that had been left out for me.

I can see the logic: Give Siobhan a carrymat to sleep on, a duvet to keep her warm, and a pillow for her head. But for some reason (that will probably elude scientific deduction for decades to come), I decided to sleep under the carry-mat, with my face pressed against the carpet.

Needless to say, I had a shag-pile-based pattern on my face for most of the morning.

...

Incidently, I think I should point out here that I have been to his house before — just the once.

And that time, I didn't wake up with my face against the carpet. That time, I woke up with my face in a hedge.

And that's nothing compared to the time I fell asleep on Emma M's toilet in Cincinatti, and had to have my arse wiped by Talia.

But I've probably told that story before