I had pissed him off. Pissed him off royally. "Look at you with your bird you never come drinking anymore fuck you. You're as bad as McMuck," is what I texted in my cups.
4pm in the day and lampy.
As soon as I'd sent him the message it left my memory. No sent items list in those days. I just carried on drinking and cursing his name, that capital old drinkist buddy of mine now sullied by the loving of a good woman.
Gah to him.
I just carried on drinking and cursing his name and drinking until passing out time.
Later and home and straight to bed. Single room. Box room. Nausea. Too much gargle. Stomach swimming stupid when, 8.14pm, the door bursts open.
"How fucking DARE you accuse me of being a fu... Put on your fucking clothes! I saw your message and ran all the way from Dorset Str... PUT ON YOUR FUCKING CLOTHES."
I never again accused him of preferring women to ale.
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I'm laughing. Should I?
ReplyDeleteYou should. Not always with the introspection.
ReplyDeleteDid you shout "don't look at me" ?
ReplyDeleteThere was no time for words, Red. I was too busy drinking the can he thrust at me upon bursting in. I should have mentioned that.
ReplyDeleteSounds like a jolly good chap. More of it I say.
ReplyDeleteNaRocRoc - He's a capital fellow.
ReplyDeleteHe sounds like an absolute charmer.Fair play to him :)
ReplyDelete