There was just no keeping Skippy down

Given the age I am and based on past experiences with alcohol, I’d have thought I’d have known better than to get plastered these days.

Apparently not.

While I was in Australia, I celebrated my forty -*cough* -th birthday. The day was spent very pleasantly; a very civilised lunch, followed by a couple of drinks in a pub, then a very sedate, grown up dinner in the evening at a restaurant next to the beach.

No drunken tales to be told there.

The next day ended up being much less refined.

The lovely Crazy Garden Lady and I had arranged to meet at lunchtime. Given that she lives approximately half an hour’s drive from Eldest Daughter, it seemed mad to travel to the other side of the world and not pay a visit to Crazy Farm.

Eldest Daughter dropped me off, with a cheery, ‘have fun!’ and I was given a tour of Crazy Farm and also met CGL’s other half, Crazy Car Man. It was decided that he would drive CGL and I to a pub by the ocean, while he went looking for something for his Kingswood.

I got to go in the Kingswood – yay!

A couple of hours, a couple of beers and much conversation later, CCM, successful in his foraging for a new wing mirror, picked us up and after stopping to get food for a barbecue, we headed back to Crazy Farm.

After we’d eaten and drunk a bottle of wine between us, we moved inside and carried on drinking.

(By the way, it’s just as well I’m back in the UK, because otherwise I reckon I’d have Skippy the Bush Kangaroo’s hard bastard mates after me.

Why?

Because I ate Skippy.

Yes, I ate barbecued Skippy kebabs, and very tasty they were too.)

At some point, and I can’t remember how, it came out, to Crazy Car Man’s delight, that I’m a beer drinker.

Out from the fridge came the home brew.

I don’t know how much we both got through, but it was A LOT. At one point Crazy Garden Lady took a photo of the copious amount of empties; I was beyond remembering I even had a camera with me by then, so I have no photographic evidence unfortunately.

It had been previously arranged that Eldest Daughter would pick me up in the evening – all I needed to do was send her a text.

I forgot.

I did get a text from her asking if all was okay, but was unable to reply due to my brain disconnecting itself from my fingers.

Then, after sampling yet more vintage home brew, I forgot she’d sent a text.

After leaving it a while, she phoned me, so I slurrily perfectly coherently said it was fine to pick me up. Knowing it would be half an hour before she arrived meant one thing.

Time for more home brew.

Hurrah!

At about 8:30pm a disapproving Eldest Daughter turned up (Oh Mother! You’re drunk!!), with Twinkle, and eventually, after saying my goodbyes to Crazy Garden Lady and Crazy Car Man (‘wossluvverly to meetchoo’), I got into her car, where my head promptly fell back against the headrest and I sort of passed out fell asleep.

When we got back to her house, Eldest Daughter bundled Twinkle indoors, leaving me to find my way out of the car, which was quite difficult due to it being parked uphill – every time I opened the door, the bloody thing closed on me.

Eventually I made it into the house, where I headed straight for the kitchen, got a glass of water, then announced, ‘I’m going to bed’ but it actually came out more like, ‘gunnabed’.

After laying on the bed for a few minutes, I got that ‘uh-oh, this isn’t going to be pretty’ feeling, so I headed straight for the bathroom.

I’m not going to go into detail about what happened next, partly because that would be really gross and partly because Eldest Daughter reads this blog, and it was her bathroom that she still has to use.

Let’s just say that Skippy briefly saw the light of day again in a projectile way.

So did the home brew.

What a waste.