Friday, 24 April 2015

"Drunken Routs, in Which More Things Were Broken Than Heads and Furniture, Sister!"

What are archives for, if not to be delved into? We've got a juicy exchange of uncategorizable social media messaging drivel for you, with illustrations of Irish or possibly Scottish toilets! Said uncategorizable social media messaging drivel is from more or less exactly a year ago, and was occasioned by an unusually vile, even for us, hangover.

But first, let us have one of those sickeningly hearty tales of non-disappointment which we promised, in our last post, that we would make into a regular feature. So without further ado, let us register our lack of disappointment when, at the gym a couple of weeks ago, the lady in reception let us go in for free because we didn't have our bank account details with us, and thus couldn't renew our membership. Our lack of disappointment on this occasion was pretty staggering.

Let us quickly stop being sentimental, however, and move on to tales of drunken debauchery from the Privy Counsel archive! Below is a fairly typical exchange between us and Semi-Intellectual Friend (written in - yes! - the first person! This is how we normally express ourselves, believe it or not, when communicating with close friends):

4 May 2014, 3:57 am
Privy Counsellor:

4 May 2014, 4:05 am
Privy Counsellor:
I just made myself sick behind a bus stop. Charming. 
4 May 2014, 5:18am
Privy Counsellor: 
I think i got home ok. 
4 May 2014, 7:15am
Privy Counsellor:
Should i really have to out up with this kind if indignity? Can someone please tell my stomach that it's all [Friend Who Shall Remain Nameless]'s fault?
Put up with. Gaah. 
4 May 2014, 1:08pm
Semi-Intellectual Friend:
Sorry. All that deserves something more.
4 May 2014, 7:08 pm
Privy Counsellor:
Fuck you. I've spent all day throwing up undigested rye bread. 
4 May 2014, 7:24 pm
Semi-Intellectual Friend:
That's fair. I got you some photos to make it up to you (though I took them last night, so it was kind of premeditated making it up to you, before I even knew I would have anything to make up. I guess it was a safe assumption). 
This toilet was totally uninteresting - too uninteresting for the blog, really, sorry - but I thought you might like to see it anyway due to its use of a carpeted floor. Carpet? In a toilet? Is there any precedent for such madness? Maybe they thought that making it really ugly carpet might make up in some way for its strangeness. I'm not sure. 
I would probably have taken some more photos but I was interrupted by some bastard who actually wanted to use the toilet, so it was either leave or linger, take some more photos, involving a man going to the toilet, and look (with good reason in this case) like a pervert.
And then my phone died. So it was a pleasure to turn on my phone this afternoon and discover the series of events that happened to you last night, from the five-hour gap from your 10pm message to OH MY HOD I'M SO DRUNK and you getting pissed at your stomach for it misattributing responsibility, like a perfect stomachwanker.
My Sunday last week was basically the same, minus rye bread.  



4 May 2014, 7:35pm
Semi-Intellectual Friend:
Oh. I was at a wedding, btw. And I did get really drunk (FREE! BAR!), but the tower of deep fried black pudding and haggis chicken I ate (at a pub down the road because I wasn't cool enough to actually get invited to the meal [long story]) seems to have insulated my stomach against all harm. 
[lots of stuff taken out for the benefit and continued sanity of our readers] 
4 May 2014, 9:03 pm
The Privy Counsellor:
There. I've drunk a cup of water. Took me three hours, but I did it. Don't say I haven't spent my evening productively. 
[lots of stuff taken out, etc]

5 May 2014, 11:31 am
The Privy Counsellor:
I have terrible stomach cramps. I think that, maybe, spending six hours doing little else than drinking whisky, in combination with not eating anything for approximately 30 hours, wreaks havoc on one's insides. 
How's your work going, anyway?
[there is more but we think this is enough debauchery to be getting on with for now]

Ooh la la - fairly Bridget Jones-esque, no? Like Bridget Jones, we like to think that we manage to keep on keeping on thanks to a network of friends, connected by social media (telephony is just, like, so nineties). 

There was a time in our life when we found it remarkably hard to keep on keeping on, and only maintained our grip thanks to a) a helpful network of friends administering b) equally helpful amounts of whisky, and c) playing this song, featured today as a Festive Video, on non-stop repeat.

We Clutch Desperately at Straws, and Try to Cheer Everyone Up with One of Jonny's Pictures

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