In brief.
Precisely a week and a few hours ago today I was happily sinking pints of Strongbow that had been bought for me by a nice guy from the isle of Barra whom Jacelyn, in her usual manner, had invited over to our table in the name of "pub chat". It goes without saying that Jac was a little tipsy at the moment she did that. I had absolutely no intention of getting drunk at all... (As all good defence statements begin.)
I know we all had a fantastic conversation, but my memory of it all is patchy at best. The guy worked on cargo ships 11 weeks on, 6 off; travelled all over the world and that. I resisted the temptation to ask if the ships he worked on were long, hard and full of seamen. And there is one excerpt I can just about remember in full:
Him: You sound as though you're from quite a posh area of Glasgow...
Me: Ha! Naw, I'm working class, I'm just well spoken.
Him: Very well spoken indeed...
Me: I live in the Calton area. You know where that is? You know, next to the Barras?
Him: The Barras - aye... (says something about the area...)
Me: Aye, you know, the average male life expectancy there is 53, and it's a red-light area - which I discovered while walking through the area when I was about 14, and a few guys propositioned me... you don't notice it till after the first few -then you can spot them a mile away... (and so I blather on about my gloriously working class background.)
And after a couple of hours of yapping on, and him affirming to me that I was "a nice lassie", he left as he had to get up at 3am; and an hour or so later, me Jac and her boyfriend left. I had no idea how drunk I was. I was, quite frankly, pished. I noticed the glimmer of concern that passed over Jac's face when I told her I was cycling home. I've cycled half cut before. Not on the road, I hasten to add.
On Buchanan Street, I was fiddling with my bike lock, falling over, vomitting, getting up, fiddling with my bike lock, falling over and vomitting. A nice gentleman (and thank the Good Lord that he was a nice gentleman) came and helped me home with the bike. All the while I was praising him and going on about how "most men would take advantage..." And of course now I do appreciate that those words could well have proven to have been horribly ironic. I know, I know... But he was nice, and that's what matters in the end, right?
I woke up in the morning, looked at the clock, said "shit" - phoned work to state that I'd be late as I'd forgotten to set my alarm - which was true of course - jumped into my clothes, phoned a taxi, and spent the morning in work quietly vomitting into the bin under my desk.
Silly, silly me...
I'll write about my weekend visit to Edinburgh when I have time tomorrow. My dad wants me off the PC now. Wishing you a nice Monday as usual.
I know we all had a fantastic conversation, but my memory of it all is patchy at best. The guy worked on cargo ships 11 weeks on, 6 off; travelled all over the world and that. I resisted the temptation to ask if the ships he worked on were long, hard and full of seamen. And there is one excerpt I can just about remember in full:
Him: You sound as though you're from quite a posh area of Glasgow...
Me: Ha! Naw, I'm working class, I'm just well spoken.
Him: Very well spoken indeed...
Me: I live in the Calton area. You know where that is? You know, next to the Barras?
Him: The Barras - aye... (says something about the area...)
Me: Aye, you know, the average male life expectancy there is 53, and it's a red-light area - which I discovered while walking through the area when I was about 14, and a few guys propositioned me... you don't notice it till after the first few -then you can spot them a mile away... (and so I blather on about my gloriously working class background.)
And after a couple of hours of yapping on, and him affirming to me that I was "a nice lassie", he left as he had to get up at 3am; and an hour or so later, me Jac and her boyfriend left. I had no idea how drunk I was. I was, quite frankly, pished. I noticed the glimmer of concern that passed over Jac's face when I told her I was cycling home. I've cycled half cut before. Not on the road, I hasten to add.
On Buchanan Street, I was fiddling with my bike lock, falling over, vomitting, getting up, fiddling with my bike lock, falling over and vomitting. A nice gentleman (and thank the Good Lord that he was a nice gentleman) came and helped me home with the bike. All the while I was praising him and going on about how "most men would take advantage..." And of course now I do appreciate that those words could well have proven to have been horribly ironic. I know, I know... But he was nice, and that's what matters in the end, right?
I woke up in the morning, looked at the clock, said "shit" - phoned work to state that I'd be late as I'd forgotten to set my alarm - which was true of course - jumped into my clothes, phoned a taxi, and spent the morning in work quietly vomitting into the bin under my desk.
Silly, silly me...
I'll write about my weekend visit to Edinburgh when I have time tomorrow. My dad wants me off the PC now. Wishing you a nice Monday as usual.