The aftermath is never a dull moment.
As I sat there this morning, trying to put together how I have gained scratches on both of my hands and one arm, why all of my pockets are crammed full with gambling chips, realizing we were lucky in our 'close call' with the police, trying to remember who took the photo of me trying to strike an 'erotic male calender' pose, using a rather large road sign to cover most of my modesty and wondering who the hell I spoke to in Australia on that girl's mobile phone.
It was no use asking my friend, as she handed me my first coffee of the day. She fell asleep on the sofa for the last few hours while the rest of us were in drunken wii mode. Previous to that she had been trying to keep up with everybody else, and failing. Those three glasses of wine she downed on an empty stomach kicked in by 10 and she was pretty useless after that. Although she proved herself very useful in helping me carry the huge 'No Smoking' sign that we gained on our two mile walk back to our friend's house.
This morning, she seemed more vocal about telling me she'd spent the best part of two hours already this morning "shitting through the eye of a needle". And the deep, rapturous burps didn't really add anything to the conversation.
During the day, most of the blurry pieces of the puzzle have cleared. I think a good time was had by most, if not all and everybody survived in one piece. That's always a good sign.
I'm still to find out who has the photo though.
One thing that is clear to me when I think back.
As midnight was approaching with chants of the countdown, the group of friends I was out with bobbed and weaved their way further into the building and we kinda got separated. The clock struck midnight. Whistles and bangs, cheers and "hoorays" bellowed out, as people did the hugging, kissing, shaking hands kind of thing. And for entire length of that awful..fucking..song that's sung on every New Year, I was all alone.
2 parlez:
alone but not all alone.
Happy New Year Xx
Same to you g, x.
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