Party Time!

I have the shits. Post booze craps. The alco-poops.This appears to be my bodies new way of telling me I had a great night. I used to get the most horrendous hangovers lasting a minimum of two days. It was a real pain in the arse as I had to plan my drinking to coincide with at least two rest days. Thats not good. I wouldn’t consider myself to be a light weight, but then again that is a rather long time to recover s it not?

Anyway, the hangovers used to be hell on Earth. The kind where you think you are dying if you so much as move an eyeball. The kind where you know food would help and put you back on the road to recovery but you physically cannot move and go to the kitchen to stock up on nibbles. I often used to puke too. Just once mind, usually mid afternoon seconds after thinking I may be on the mend. I used to take that brief feeling of recovery as a dark portent. Blurrrrgh!!!! Huey!!!!! Heeeeeeerb!

If I have had a particularly heavy night I would also have another something else to look forward to. The ‘Fear’. The ‘Fear’ is that feeling you get after a night out on the booze that leaves you feeling very alone and terrified in your own home. FOR ABSOLUTELY NO REASON. There is no mad knife wielding psycho behind the door, you will not fall asleep and not wake up, your partner is not about to leave you. How fucked up is that?

I think a lot of people suffer with the ‘Fear’ after an apocalyptic piss-up. Not many would admit to it though I bet. I do however and I have told Jemma that she must be around the day after I have had a drink so that I don’t get scared of I don’t know what. The sun maybe or a strong breeze outside, or maybe even fuck all! I hate the ‘Fear’.

Where was I? Ah yes. So I used to get god awful hangovers but not anymore it would appear. Now I just get the shits. By ten this morning I had been four times. Real pan splattering bastards too. Serious.

I attribute this change due to me not smoking anymore. Okay, I still smoke a bit. I have maybe one at the beginning of a night out (or in) if I am drinking and maybe another around mid night. That’s all though. I no longer smoke at work, in the car or at home. I don’t smoke anywhere as a matter of fact. Last light I had one at a party and it was my first one for nearly a month. I believe that smoking (in the past) intensified my hangovers a hundred fold.

Yet some sick bastard up there simply will not let me go out and enjoy a few dozen cans with friends without paying for it somehow. Was, end-of-the-Earth-we-are-all-doomed-I-am-surely-dying-cracking-nauseating-headaches but no more. No now my guardian angel sees fit to watch me shit myself into oblivion the day after a piss up. Oh well. I would rather it this way to be honest.

So I went to party last night which is actually what this post was meant to be about. I do apologise for ranting on for ages about shitting myself and being scared of my own breath.

It was a mates 30th birthday. His name is Chris and he used to be a crew mate of mine on the ambulance when I worked in Essex. I don’t have many fond memories of my time down there but I do remember who my friends are. So Jemma and I booked a room down in Basildon and went a long to the party. It was a surprise party held at his parents house. Everyone turned up well before and we all hid in a massive marquee his parents had hired and put up specially for the occasion. Chris’s girlfriend distracted him (somehow) for a good hour or so before the party was due to kick off and so he genuinely had no idea. Then they rocked up round the parents house for what Chris thought was to be a nice family meal. Led by mothers hand into the back garden he clocked the marquee and blurted

‘Oh Fuck Off! You fucking have not…. have you?’

He peered inside and we all screamed our heads off. He looked royally pissed off I have to say so we all did our best to put him centre stage and ensure he didn’t try and leg it. Great fun.

It was good seeing them all again. I heard all the gossip from what’s going on with Essex ambulance, traded it with my own and laughed with abandon as we all agreed what a shitty state of affairs it was.

It was a cracking night. I drank my fair share and Jemma’s. Jemma was a diamond, laughing and joking with all my old mates and making a real effort to fit in. I think she succeeded spectacularly well.

Though I had a lot of fun, I have to say that from an outsiders point of view the party was not the event the parents were obviously expecting it to be. The marquee was perhaps three times bigger than it needed to be. The food and drink that had been laid on would have fed and watered half the street let alone the twenty or so who turned up. Most of them were family too. I was surprised I have to say. It was a Friday night after all. Chris is a popular guy and I would have thought his mates would have filled that marquee on their own without anyone else being able to fit in. I guess thinking back, they wanted it family only and close friends only? If that were true I feel even more honoured to have been invited. I shall invite him to the wedding of course.

Anyway, I should away. X Factor is on and I am in need of a shit.

M 🙂

Author: Mark S Thompson

Okay, so these things are kind of hit and miss. If you’re reading this then I am thankful to you for taking the time out of your day to do so. I’ll be honest, when I think of myself as a writer, I kinda cringe. Don’t get me wrong, it is the dream, it's​ just I never really believe it will go anywhere. When I think back to the day that I first knew I loved writing, and I mean really knew, I see myself sitting in an English lesson at secondary school. The school was called Wrotham and is in the county of Kent, England. As far as I know, it's still there. English was far and away my favourite subject. The best bit was when the teacher gave the class a selection of words and asked us to make up a story that either contained those words or was about those words, you know. At other times we would be given the first sentence and then write what happens next. Good times. Many times my work would reflect what I had recently read and it would be okay. Nothing special, just okay. On one occasion though I wrote about a merman called Finchy and can remember going into so much depth and detail about him and the underwater kingdom he lived in. I really enjoyed writing that and it must have shown because my teacher commented on it. She was really impressed and loved the story. That was it for me, my moment. Now when I write I think back to those great times and to that story. Hopefully, I’ll write something that you, the reader, will be moved to comment on. For me, there is no greater elixir

One thought on “Party Time!”

  1. Hangovers,eh? I Shit ‘Em!!

    Just wait till you turn thirty. They get much much worse. In your teens and early twenties you can shake the effects off by Naafi Break (11am to the uninitiated) and be bright-eyed and bushy tailed by tea time.
    Once past about 25 they seem to linger on all day, but as you reach the milestone of thirty then they fuck you up for days on end.
    Past forty? In bed all day the next day, then in shit state for a week.
    Past fifty? Warm milk and a nice rusk is about all you can face, plus plentiful naps. You have to pace yourself, for example last night I only had 5 cans of Fosters and I feel pretty good.

    Re ‘The Fear’….as you know, alcohol is a mild depressant, it automatically lowers your mood anyway.

    But what do I know?


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