Last night, Stewart and I met in the Cornerhouse bar for a few pre-dinner drinks. I know a part of him was dreading this birthday, with Ian no longer with us. It’s times like this that Stewart misses his number one drinking buddy most.
That not withstanding he seemed to be doing ok and got positively over excited opening his presents (much to the amusement of the guy sat adjacent to us!).
I’m glad to say that all three pressies were a definite hit (phew!) and he grinned from ear to ear as he discovered each one. Heck I even got the correct size for the T’shirt!
After a couple of drinks, we headed into Chinatown. I’d promised to treat him to whatever night out he wanted (after I failed to secure Ian Brown tickets) and he decided on a banquet for two at the Little Yang Sing.
The food was fabulous and was washed down nicely by two bottles of wine.
Fed, happy and just a little pissed we went on to Fab and spent the next few hours drinking and laughing in one of our favourite after-hours hang outs.
The music was excellent – a happy mix of new and old-skool indie. By the time the DJ spun The Cure however, sofa dancing is no longer enough for Stew, and while I stayed with the bags he headed onto the dancefloor to swirl around like a dervish. For some reason I’m put in mind of that line from Four Weddings and a Funeral: “The first time I saw Gareth on a dancefloor, I feared lives would be lost”.
All too soon it was closing time and having narrowly decided against catching the last hour at 5th Avenue, we caught a cab home.
Knowing I would have to drive in the morning I had already switched to soft drinks; Stewart was still going strong however and we were no sooner through my front door, before he had found the whiskey on the shelf.
I think we eventually got to bed sometime around 4am.
At 6am Stewart’s alarm goes off. He falls back to sleep. At three points between 6.15am and 6.
50am I rewake him and remind him he needs to get to Stalybridge to get Tor to school. I fall back to sleep.
Next thing I know my alarm is going off and it’s 8.10am.
And yet Stewart is still fast asleep next to me.
Major panic ensues and while I enjoy a nice hot shower and get ready for work, Stewart manages to arrange for one of Tor’s friend’s dad to walk Tor to school and grovels frantically to Tor’s mum on the phone.
We eventually leave the house at about 8.45am and as I drive the-hangover-kid to work all I hear from the passenger seat is "I’m never going to drink again...".
I'll believe it when I see it. In the meantime I just give thanks once again for the fact that I don’t do hangovers.
They don’t look like fun.
No comments:
Post a Comment