After Heaven

I had planned not to get absolutely wankered on Halloween because I wanted to be in a fit state for travelling the following day.  So I thought I would just get a little arseholed, enough to placate the aggressive ministrations of well-intentioned friends who only want to make sure I'm having a nice time but believe that must involve getting appallingly rat-arsed.  Unfortunately I am a man easily swayed, especially when it comes to alcohol, and after the first bottle of wine was soaked into my bloodstream I was halfway to fucked and thought I might as well carry on.  Things continued to degenerate in the club, where the drinks became a sinister mixture of vodka and beer, the fancy dress became cumbersome or missing, someone stuck a finger in my mouth and told me it was covered in drugs, and then I fell down a staircase and now my shin is the colour of blackberry fool.  But of course we all know who the real fool is here.  We departed the area at about 5am, and then proceeded to make a slurred fuss in McDonald's when we were tragically informed that there were no cheese bites.  Next thing it was 3pm this afternoon and I was waking up in a pitch black basement as a shivering, painted wreck.

This was my friend's basement that acts as a dual laundry and guest room.  I had not been kidnapped.

Unfortunately I then had to make the tortuous journey from London to Reading on an exceedingly busy train.  I couldn't possibly have survived standing all the half-hour journey back, even if my shin hadn't looked like a page torn from the bloodstained leaves of a demonic tome.  So I had to sit on my bag next to the door.  This was a bearable way to pass the journey, but when I stood up again I was struck by a sudden and hellish truth.  I had developed pins and needles in my right leg.  Not just regular, foot-based pins and needles though, no.  These had travelled from the toes, up the entire length of the leg, and were now actually in the process of invading my genitals.  I had, in essence, pins and needles of the penis.  When I get this in my feet I normally waggle them around a bit and it's all well and good, but I was on a busy train so I couldn't just whip out the old chap and start waving it round the carriage.  So instead I tried to inject a little more energy into my walking, which I thought might jiggle things around a little down there and lessen the feeling.  This worked, but did also make it look like I was skipping, and when a grown man is skipping alone down the platform of Reading station, solemn-faced, parents to tend to move their children to the side.

That aside, the weekend was all very pleasant.  I do like Halloween, but I thank the God of Liver that it's only once a year.

Anastacia played at Heaven.  She is still looking fine at 47.