|Things I've regretted doing when drunk (part 1 of 1,736)|
Back in September last year, we won the quiz at the Retro Bar. We got the cash prize - about £130. And - well - it went to our heads. Several pints to celebrate. And then several more for luck. And then a few more in a late-night drinking den. And then a few more. For the road. Eventually I staggered onto a night bus and promptly fell asleep.
I woke up as the bus was pulling into a bus garage in entirely unfamiliar surroundings. I rushed down the stairs, falling down most of them. And then tried to figure out where the hell I was. Somewhere suburban, with wide streets. Not very London at all. Edgware. Not Edgware Road, note, but Edgware, Middlesex.
I made a few exploratory forays in each direction, till I found a stop for London-bound nightbuses. Next to the bus stop was a phone box. Inside the phone box was a drunken youth. Asleep. Four feet off the ground, in a horizontal position, with his feet propped against the door and his head and shoulders against the far wall. With a half-eaten kebab resting on his lap.
In my mind's eye, I could see what would happen if I gave the door a quick jerk - he'd fall down.
So that's what I did.
And that's what he did. Came crashing to the ground, kebab and chips and curry sauce flying into the air and splatting on his face. And then he saw me. And he chased me down the street. Or rather he tried to. For every three steps he took towards me, he'd involuntarily take a further seven in another direction. So I easily out-ran him.
But mate, if you're reading this, I'm sorry!