My mate Craig is a bastard. That's about the best reason I can come up with for the hangover I'm suffering today. What sort of bastard inflicts a hangover on a mate on a Monday? Yesterday was a perfect Melbourne day, warm, sunny, beautiful. So what does a young lad about town do on such a day? Get pissed and look at hot chicks? You betcha!
It all started with an invitation to go with him to the Carlton family day. I thought he was joking at first, being a bombers supporter I'm not to inclined to hang out at the Blues events. As it was he was taking his sweet time so we only caught the tail end of it but he got a photo with the Wizard Cup, so he's happy. What an ugly piece of silverware that thing is, looks like a year 10 metal-work assignment gone wrong.
So after standing out on the turf and having a general gander we decide heading into the city for a quiet cleansing ale. After much farking around with a car that wouldn't start we finally get back to his joint, grab some travellers and train it in. To cut a long story short, we ended up in Richmond at the Corner Hotel and sat on the roof admiring the scantilly clad scenery and sipping on fine amber draught. His girlfriend eventually joined us, a rather nice Italian lass, and we decided to drink dinner. We eventually got back to my place where he started on bourbon and I thought a glass or two of Château Box would be the ticket. All was right with the world and everyone's happy.
Cut to today. It's 6:30 am, my alarm is sending sonic needles into my brain and a very small carpet layer has been to work on my tounge. Faaaark! About an hour later I finally manage to stumble out and not throw up all over the place. I somehow manage to shower myself and even dress with everything around the right way. Mako the Wonder Dog does his best to get his useless master awake and functioning, a sloppy lick on a bare leg will do that first thing in the morning. I eventually mope out into the garage and bring the bike out for the ride in to work. Why did it gain an extra 50 kilos in the night?
On the way in some stupid bitch decides that the space I'm currently occupying is just to good to pass up and forthwith swerves into my lane. Thankfully for me the part of the brain that is still able to tick over is also the part riding the bike and I avoid another bone crunching accident. Bitch naturally doesn't give a stuff and gives me the finger when I get on the horn. Typical.
So to work. My manager is very impressed I'm an hour late, the lunch menu at the caffeteria sucks even by it's low standard and I'm just happy to keep my stomach in the right place.
The personal hell that is my work station eventually spits me out at a bit after 5 and I again have the pleasure of a near-death experience thanks to another hateful shrew bent on my destruction. I make it home. Gods, the things we do to ourselves.
And all of this is thanks to my mate Craig. You bastard!
Catch you soon...
No comments:
Post a Comment