Well, it has been a little while since I wrote a story about my drunken quests.
This story kicks of just last Saturday, as I started the evening with a few races at a local Go-Kart for one of my best mate’s Birthday.
Now the karts weren’t that good… in fact they were quite dodgy. However, the one I was in did have a bit of go if you drove it properly. Because it was just a private joint, there weren’t any lap timings or official races. You just get to thrash the karts for a while.
The sessions only go for 10 minutes. But after about 10 minutes, the ol’ arms are starting to get somewhat sore. After two sessions of 10 minutes, it feels like you’ve done 100-odd push-ups.
Somehow I nearly managed to flip it. Again, private track; there were pot holes, the tires that lined the edges were loose, which made for an interesting time as the track was constantly changing as you dodged pot-holes, tires, spun-out karts etc.
Afterwards we quickly decided that we wanted dinner, and somehow fluked a table at a local hotel for FIFTEEN people! To just rock up without a booking, at a pub that is normally booked out, and still get a table was very lucky.
I had myself some garlic prawns… which were somewhat ordinary. Wasn’t terribly impressed, but what can ya do? (Eat it was the option I chose.)
A few beers downed at the pub over dinner, and everyone retreated back home to clean themselves up ready to go out. Fortunately I lived just up the road (well, kinda), so myself, the birthday boy and his girlfriend stopped off at my place. I poured myself a bourbon and cola as I quickly cleaned up and had a shower.
Soon enough, the taxi arrived and we arrived in North Adelaide. The chosen watering hole was The Archer. Quite a good choice for a Saturday night. Not too busy, but enough of a crowd to feel that it isn’t empty. Problem is, whenever I go to the Archer, my memory is always very vague of actually leaving the place. For this I blame their pints. Pints at the Archer aren’t normal pints. They are imperial pints. So once you’ve downed 4-5 of the bastards, vision blurs and the mouth slurs.Bumped into quite a few people I knew, which is no surprise really, I mean, it is Adelaide.Although, it was a little strange being out in town the the people that I was with. My good mate, the birthday boy, is actually a real country boy. So being at a popular destination in the city with him was a little different, and he did feel a little out-of-place. Whereas I was in my element and loving it.
So several pints later we were kicked out of the pub as the doors closed. There was a breathalyzer machine in the foyer that we threw a few bucks in to see how drunk we were. I blew 1.something-high, and I still had more beer that was settling itself into my blood.
Yep, I was drunk.Now the memory does become rather vague at this point. But I do remember a few key events. I don’t remember drunk dialing a few people… whoops! I also don’t remember getting to the Casino. However, I did. Now I’m not a gambling man. I’ve thrown a few dollars here and there on roulette, but that is it really.
One of the blokes I was stumbling about with wasn’t keen on betting either, so we went for a stumble. And, we stumbled upon Ryan Fitzgerald… commonly known as Fitzy (the radio presenter). For whichever reason, we thought that it would be a good idea to buy him a drink. As drunken blokes do when they meet someone famous… they slur lines like, “Ah gidday Fiizy, yoor a farken lergend.” - And exactly that we did. However, to his credit he did chat to us for a while, which was quite cool.
The birthday boy eventually rocked up, and wanted to throw some money on the table. I said I only really knew how roulette works… which is partly a lie, but I couldn’t be fucked walking anywhere else, and they were right next to us. Then he asked how it works… I had a few attempts at constructing a sentence, but eventually gave up and just said, “Bet red…”, “Bet odd…”, “Bet top half… huh? Erm… jus’ put it there.” Soon enough he was $50 up thanks to my good advice lucky suggestions.
Then we lined up outside in the taxi rank. Time seemed to pass fairly quickly, and the rank wasn’t that busy, as it was about 4am. Just before a taxi arrived for us, an old neighbour friend of mine turned up out of nowhere. I knew she lived nearby, and we invited her along to split the cab. But then we all got out at my place, and sat in my loungeroom chatting for quite some time. Eventually I made it to bed at something past 5:30am… well, that was the last time I checked the clock. It was quite some time after that before I actually got to sleep.
Problem was… I had to be up for work at 10:00.Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.Yes, ’sucked’ is somewhat an understatement. I was so ridiculously tired, and hungover, and no doubt smelt of booze. But I made it through one of the busiest days we’ve ever had at work. Oh-my-god my head was sore.
After what felt like years, the day ended, and I was able to go home. Okay, I had to play basketball at 8. Hmm… it’s just past 6. Nap? Yes, definitely. So I set my alarm, laid down and was probably asleep before I had even closed my eyes.
A few minutes later… well, what felt like a few minutes… my phone alarm is going off. God damn… reach over and pick it up, and it stopped. I pull myself around to get a look at the time… wait a minute. That wasn’t the alarm, that was it ringing! Missed call… oh shit… it’s 9pm!!!
Fuck.
Slept through the whole thing. Ah fuck it, I’m going back to sleep.
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