My Ruin
Guess I should write something about my trip to Ireland, huh? Heeeere goes!
I had a half-day on Thursday, and got something to eat with Mum and Beck before going home to pack. Mum was kind of rushing us, though, and it was a bit stressful; I'd hoped to set up the internet before I left (God knows I'd been trying for a week), but I didn't get around to it. Mum's a little on the cautious side, so we turned up early for the coach to the airport, which got us there much earlier than we really needed to be, and resulted in us sitting around in Stansted Airport's horribly crowded Wetherspoon's. Glee. Beck and I listened to Bibio's 'Jealous of Roses'.
The flight was uneventful. On arriving in Derry, Niall picked us up, and we drove to Beck's. Before long Dad arrived to take Mum and I home, and I had a fairly early night. I don't remember much about Friday; Mum and I went to Donegal town in the morning for a bit of shopping, and I bought Beck a birthday present and a card. Beck came around a bit later, with her PS2.
I don't remember much about Saturday morning either, come to think of it. Most likely this is because of what happened later. It was Beck's birthday on Friday, so we went out for a meal on Saturday night; my family, her fiancée, and some aunts, uncles and cousins, 11 of us in total. The meal was nice, but I was already quite drunk by the end of it. This can probably be attributed to Dad. I had a glass of red wine on the initial drinks order, and then he bought two bottles of red. Seeing as it was just the two of us drinking Red wine, we had a bottle each. It kind of went downhill from there, too. The manager of the restaurant/bar we were at bought us a round of drinks (This has happened before, as we go there quite a lot), and mine was a whiskey and Coke, which I drank in parallel to my last glass of red wine. Oh dear. From here on it gets a little fuzzy, but from photographic evidence I estimate that I had some toxic-looking pink cocktail (A 'Woo-Woo'?), a glass of some clear orange liquid that I remember nothing about, and at least one shot which consisted of Creme de Menthe, Baileys and.. Tia Maria? My last clear memory is of dipping my thumb in the shot and having someone attempt to light it to play some stupid drinking game. Of course, the game is supposed to be played with Sambuca, and Bailey's doesn't really catch fire. And then... nothing.
I woke up the next morning, feeling okay. It then occurred to me that I had no memory of getting home the night before. I checked the time; 1:45pm. Starting to get a little worried, I scoured my memory for any hint of what happened after I blacked out. Ah, there it is.. I remembered kneeling in front of a toilet in a cubicle, retching into the bowl. I think my cousin was outside, asking if I was okay; I mumbled an affirmative. Great. I grew worried that I had become some kind of fountain of puke and completely embarrassed my family, and got the shakes as a result. With no solid memories, how could I be sure I hadn't? I steeled my nerves, got up and went to the kitchen. Quizzed my Mum a bit on what had happened, and she said I'd been fine (Apart from being sick in the toilets), albeit rather drunk. I'd been singing at one point, and we got home at about 2:30am (My last memory is from about 11:30, according to the timestamps on photos). Feeling queasy and unable to eat, but not hungover, I sat and watched Crocodile Dundee on TV for a while. Decided to lie down again for a bit, and our cat Mitzy joined me; she didn't seem very lively herself. Whilst I was resting, I reclaimed another memory. This was the one I'd been waiting for.
I was in the toilets again. Someone had been sick in the sink. Eugh. It was me, wasn't it? I was that guy. You know how if you get a bit of food clogging the plug-hole of a sink, you can usually dislodge it by putting your in there and swilling it around? Yeah, I did that. I think my cousin was behind me again, and he told me to leave it alone. So, my main concern now is whether I washed my hand off before I went back out, or whether I spent the rest of the night with a puke-y hand. My parents didn't say much on the subject, which was either because they didn't remember much themselves (They were also drinking heavily), or because they wanted to spare me.
And that's largely it. I spent the rest of Sunday recovering, and flew home the next day. Work has been pretty ordinary. I should go now, because I'm planning on seeing District 9 today. Laters!
I had a half-day on Thursday, and got something to eat with Mum and Beck before going home to pack. Mum was kind of rushing us, though, and it was a bit stressful; I'd hoped to set up the internet before I left (God knows I'd been trying for a week), but I didn't get around to it. Mum's a little on the cautious side, so we turned up early for the coach to the airport, which got us there much earlier than we really needed to be, and resulted in us sitting around in Stansted Airport's horribly crowded Wetherspoon's. Glee. Beck and I listened to Bibio's 'Jealous of Roses'.
The flight was uneventful. On arriving in Derry, Niall picked us up, and we drove to Beck's. Before long Dad arrived to take Mum and I home, and I had a fairly early night. I don't remember much about Friday; Mum and I went to Donegal town in the morning for a bit of shopping, and I bought Beck a birthday present and a card. Beck came around a bit later, with her PS2.
I don't remember much about Saturday morning either, come to think of it. Most likely this is because of what happened later. It was Beck's birthday on Friday, so we went out for a meal on Saturday night; my family, her fiancée, and some aunts, uncles and cousins, 11 of us in total. The meal was nice, but I was already quite drunk by the end of it. This can probably be attributed to Dad. I had a glass of red wine on the initial drinks order, and then he bought two bottles of red. Seeing as it was just the two of us drinking Red wine, we had a bottle each. It kind of went downhill from there, too. The manager of the restaurant/bar we were at bought us a round of drinks (This has happened before, as we go there quite a lot), and mine was a whiskey and Coke, which I drank in parallel to my last glass of red wine. Oh dear. From here on it gets a little fuzzy, but from photographic evidence I estimate that I had some toxic-looking pink cocktail (A 'Woo-Woo'?), a glass of some clear orange liquid that I remember nothing about, and at least one shot which consisted of Creme de Menthe, Baileys and.. Tia Maria? My last clear memory is of dipping my thumb in the shot and having someone attempt to light it to play some stupid drinking game. Of course, the game is supposed to be played with Sambuca, and Bailey's doesn't really catch fire. And then... nothing.
I woke up the next morning, feeling okay. It then occurred to me that I had no memory of getting home the night before. I checked the time; 1:45pm. Starting to get a little worried, I scoured my memory for any hint of what happened after I blacked out. Ah, there it is.. I remembered kneeling in front of a toilet in a cubicle, retching into the bowl. I think my cousin was outside, asking if I was okay; I mumbled an affirmative. Great. I grew worried that I had become some kind of fountain of puke and completely embarrassed my family, and got the shakes as a result. With no solid memories, how could I be sure I hadn't? I steeled my nerves, got up and went to the kitchen. Quizzed my Mum a bit on what had happened, and she said I'd been fine (Apart from being sick in the toilets), albeit rather drunk. I'd been singing at one point, and we got home at about 2:30am (My last memory is from about 11:30, according to the timestamps on photos). Feeling queasy and unable to eat, but not hungover, I sat and watched Crocodile Dundee on TV for a while. Decided to lie down again for a bit, and our cat Mitzy joined me; she didn't seem very lively herself. Whilst I was resting, I reclaimed another memory. This was the one I'd been waiting for.
I was in the toilets again. Someone had been sick in the sink. Eugh. It was me, wasn't it? I was that guy. You know how if you get a bit of food clogging the plug-hole of a sink, you can usually dislodge it by putting your in there and swilling it around? Yeah, I did that. I think my cousin was behind me again, and he told me to leave it alone. So, my main concern now is whether I washed my hand off before I went back out, or whether I spent the rest of the night with a puke-y hand. My parents didn't say much on the subject, which was either because they didn't remember much themselves (They were also drinking heavily), or because they wanted to spare me.
And that's largely it. I spent the rest of Sunday recovering, and flew home the next day. Work has been pretty ordinary. I should go now, because I'm planning on seeing District 9 today. Laters!