Sunday, September 09, 2007
Sometimes I do things that I know will hurt me. But still I go ahead and do them.
No, it's nothing as crass as cutting my arms or any other such act of self body mutilation, so that I can feel something. I have no problem with feeling. If anything I feel too much. (Bit of a Sylvia Plath moment there, eh, John? Or maybe I should call you Morrissey, circa 1985.). It is all to do with what I put into myself. Too much food. Too much drink.
Ah... Drink.
On Friday evening, during a very pleasant visit to Lorraine's ex boss Bobby Blue and his lovely missus Lana-with-the-turquoise-eyes to coo over their new baby, I was asked by Bobby if I would like a drink. Lana piped up with the choices. Coca-cola, water, orange juice, tea, coffee, wine or a beer.
Sir... That would be a beer then.
I was handed a Groschl. I do not get on well with Groschl. I'm not sure what the alcohol content is, but every time I have a Groschl I suffer from a bad head the next day. A really bad head. I have avoided Groschl since I discovered that little fact.
Groschl was the only beer on offer.
Now, honestly, I wasn't really thinking about alcohol. I wouldn't have minded having a cup of tea. I like tea. But it seems that whenever alcohol is put in front of me in a social situation, I have to have it. I think, I think that if I don't have any, I am missing out.
I did have a Groschl. I had more than one. I was a happy camper. I was on form. Lorraine and I had a great time, although she didn't drink any alcohol at all.
We looked at the baby. The baby looked back at us, but otherwise he didn't do a lot else. We swapped gossip. Bobby was funny. Lana was beautiful, if a bit podgy (says He of the not-quite-Brad-Pitt-like-figure), but that's what a baby does to you and, anyway, I have never been one to think that a lady carrying a few extra pounds is mutually exclusive to her being beautiful. Bobby, who didn't touch a drop of alcohol, was good enough to drop us home. It was a good night and it did Lorraine the world of good.
(Lorraine has said to me recently that she feels isolated. Some of it is my fault and I know it. You see, I really couldn't give a toss about keeping in touch with people, or spending time with people (other than via this weird Internet thing) but Lorraine does. When she lived in Bristol and Haywards Heath, she had a wide circle of friends. All gone now. I do not organise social events. Never have done. Maybe long ago, when I was a little boy, I tried to organise something and nobody turned up. Maybe I was scarred for life by the experience. I don't know.
I do not keep in touch with people from work. I have no idea what any of my schoolmates are doing. I was on Friends Reunited for a while, but deleted all of entries about myself when I started getting emails from people I hadn't seen in years. Why were these people bothering me? Maybe they should fuck off and leave me alone.
I do accept invitations, sometimes, but I always fret about accepting them. Often Lorraine has to talk me into going somewhere. I am going to a do in a couple of weeks, which I am sure is going to be great, but I had to be talked into going by Lorraine. I nearly made excuses.
Maybe I am just a miserable bastard. Or a recluse. I don't know. Are there any psychiatrists out there who would like to analyse me? Ah... Go fuck yourselves. I'm not going to let you.
I have told Lorraine that she should keep in touch with people. That she should bring people around the house, if she wants, but quite rightly she knows that I would be pleasant and accommodating until the moment I went to hide in my room or the back room. When we go to Nottingham, we are going early so that she can spend some time with her millionaire buddy Dolores Rat, vile creature that she is. I will hold my tongue and I will be nice, for at least a couple of hours.)
Where was I? Oh, yes. I was ill the next day (yesterday). Major hangover. Nearly all day. Wrecked any plans that I might have had to see two films this weekend. If I knew the Latin for the phrase "I told you so", I would write it just ... about ... here. But I don't, so I won't.
It has been a better day today. I went to see "Atonement", which I thought was terrific, but I will write about that tomorrow as I need to take the roast out of the oven. It's lamb. I can smell it.
Yum.
No, it's nothing as crass as cutting my arms or any other such act of self body mutilation, so that I can feel something. I have no problem with feeling. If anything I feel too much. (Bit of a Sylvia Plath moment there, eh, John? Or maybe I should call you Morrissey, circa 1985.). It is all to do with what I put into myself. Too much food. Too much drink.
Ah... Drink.
On Friday evening, during a very pleasant visit to Lorraine's ex boss Bobby Blue and his lovely missus Lana-with-the-turquoise-eyes to coo over their new baby, I was asked by Bobby if I would like a drink. Lana piped up with the choices. Coca-cola, water, orange juice, tea, coffee, wine or a beer.
Sir... That would be a beer then.
I was handed a Groschl. I do not get on well with Groschl. I'm not sure what the alcohol content is, but every time I have a Groschl I suffer from a bad head the next day. A really bad head. I have avoided Groschl since I discovered that little fact.
Groschl was the only beer on offer.
Now, honestly, I wasn't really thinking about alcohol. I wouldn't have minded having a cup of tea. I like tea. But it seems that whenever alcohol is put in front of me in a social situation, I have to have it. I think, I think that if I don't have any, I am missing out.
I did have a Groschl. I had more than one. I was a happy camper. I was on form. Lorraine and I had a great time, although she didn't drink any alcohol at all.
We looked at the baby. The baby looked back at us, but otherwise he didn't do a lot else. We swapped gossip. Bobby was funny. Lana was beautiful, if a bit podgy (says He of the not-quite-Brad-Pitt-like-figure), but that's what a baby does to you and, anyway, I have never been one to think that a lady carrying a few extra pounds is mutually exclusive to her being beautiful. Bobby, who didn't touch a drop of alcohol, was good enough to drop us home. It was a good night and it did Lorraine the world of good.
(Lorraine has said to me recently that she feels isolated. Some of it is my fault and I know it. You see, I really couldn't give a toss about keeping in touch with people, or spending time with people (other than via this weird Internet thing) but Lorraine does. When she lived in Bristol and Haywards Heath, she had a wide circle of friends. All gone now. I do not organise social events. Never have done. Maybe long ago, when I was a little boy, I tried to organise something and nobody turned up. Maybe I was scarred for life by the experience. I don't know.
I do not keep in touch with people from work. I have no idea what any of my schoolmates are doing. I was on Friends Reunited for a while, but deleted all of entries about myself when I started getting emails from people I hadn't seen in years. Why were these people bothering me? Maybe they should fuck off and leave me alone.
I do accept invitations, sometimes, but I always fret about accepting them. Often Lorraine has to talk me into going somewhere. I am going to a do in a couple of weeks, which I am sure is going to be great, but I had to be talked into going by Lorraine. I nearly made excuses.
Maybe I am just a miserable bastard. Or a recluse. I don't know. Are there any psychiatrists out there who would like to analyse me? Ah... Go fuck yourselves. I'm not going to let you.
I have told Lorraine that she should keep in touch with people. That she should bring people around the house, if she wants, but quite rightly she knows that I would be pleasant and accommodating until the moment I went to hide in my room or the back room. When we go to Nottingham, we are going early so that she can spend some time with her millionaire buddy Dolores Rat, vile creature that she is. I will hold my tongue and I will be nice, for at least a couple of hours.)
Where was I? Oh, yes. I was ill the next day (yesterday). Major hangover. Nearly all day. Wrecked any plans that I might have had to see two films this weekend. If I knew the Latin for the phrase "I told you so", I would write it just ... about ... here. But I don't, so I won't.
It has been a better day today. I went to see "Atonement", which I thought was terrific, but I will write about that tomorrow as I need to take the roast out of the oven. It's lamb. I can smell it.
Yum.
Labels: Drinking, Lorraine, Socialising, Thoughts
# posted by Pynchon @ 6:37 pm 
