I know my tolerance and stick to wine while others were doing shots, cocktails, wine, beer etc. Clearly I have lost my knack. Felt fine at the restaurant and as everyone else was deciding where to 'kick on' for a night of clubbing. I walked back towards Clare's place, less than half a click from Luna Park. She came to meet me halfway, knowing that I'd be maggotted.
Well, with every step I felt like I'd hit a wall and by the time I met up with her I was a staggering fucktard, rabbiting on about how I was fine and only drank wine. Oh yes I was fine alright. Stumbled into a car then walked up a slight incline, found it a little trixy and for some reason turned around, lost my footing and smashed clear into the pavement. No worries thinks I. Start to rub myself down, brush off the embarrasment and pick myself up and the kid has a conniption. "Don't move mum you're bleeding! Everywhere" of course I can't feel it or see it but apparently I have gashed a nice slice out of my eyebrow and there's blood gushing everywhere. So, instructed to sit, I wait for the flatmate to arrive with mopper-upper towels. All good until she who worries as much as me calls an ambulance. Turns out she's had a couple of beers, literally two or three and can't risk driving.
So picture this. Mature woman sitting in the street bleeding profusely from one eyebrow and rabbiting on about being fine. Meeting the new flatmate for the first time. Oh yes that must have made an impression and an ambulance with a rather hot ambo trying to pick me up and shut me up while he tends to the wound. Yep, needs stitches. I'm feeling no pain at this point.
10 minutes later after flirting outrageously with said ambo and apologising profusely for wasting their time, I'm on a gurney and being asked questions I can't answer. "How old are you?", "Where do you live?" yep, mildly concussed, rather embarrassingly drunker than I'd thought and dripping blood all over their nice clean sheets.
So stitched up and tetanus shot I'm ready to go home but nurse Ratchet wants me to stay in for 'observation' in case I have a brain injury but no. Fuckwit here is hot to trot and wants to go. Dutiful daughter is trying to insist I stay but instead I'm bantering on about Indian Code Talkers, an attempt to show her that I'm lucid which convinces her I'm completely traumatised.
I won of course and a taxi was hailed. Back to the flat, glass of water and a concussive crash for 10 hours. The result of which is a nicely mashed left side of my face, bruised knee, five stitches in my eyebrow and a puffy face.
Yep, I win. . . Fuckwit of the year I think. Just as well the year is nearly over. Now what the fuck do I tell them at work. Ah got it. . fell down the steps whilst helping load a book case into the new digs. That'll work won't it?
The worst of it? My sweet princess turned 26 yesterday and I wasn't at her party. Half out of embarrassment at having to explain my black eye and white patch and partly because I can't see without seeing double.
Ashamed doesn't cut it. I am a fuckwit.
Apologies if there are typos here. I can't see properly.
|The Big Face, kinda scary really|
|My Team The Lunies relied on Google|
|Being the newbie, nobody warned me that team colours were mandatory|
|Colourful chaacters. The guy in the red jacket has worked here since he was 11 years old|
|This guy was no help with answering our trivia questions|
|Awesome views of the harbour|
|Again my team slacking off, We came second in the end.|
|Of course some cheated and headed straight for the books|
|I just loved the reflection of the Opera house in the glass|
|Yummy Duck with Onion Jam|
|Cowboys - of which I had only ONE|
|No idea what these were but they were popular. That's my boss plying his staff with shots!|
Be warned, it aint pretty:
|Yep, that's what a total Fuckwit looks like.|