Baldersgate

A junkie.

A Nazi.

A fully grown adult wearing a nappy.

A pimp.

The crossbow cannibal killer.

A person with bipolar disorder.

A domestic abuse victim.

A dead hooker.

Robert Mugabe.

Where are you if you find yourself drinking with the people listed above? Nope, not Hell, but close! You're at Archie's 21st Birthday Party: Guaranteed to ruin the prospects of anyone intending to go into politics.

Thanks Archie, I'd hate too see any of those people gain any real power. 'Cept myself of course, but it isn't as if I was going to gain power by pretending to be a good person anyway.

Certain party-goers are probably experiencing something approaching Hell by now either way. After all, we discovered this morning that we managed to work our way through all the tequila. Yes, all of it. No, I didn't pour any away - the bottle is empty. We drank it, it's gone.

The result of the party is this: Next time you're worried about looking silly at a fancy-dress party, or next time you're worried that your outfit is a bit too far, I will show you the photos from last night, and I will tell you to man up.

I can't wait for Hallowe'en.

Brandy Alexander

This past weekend I have been very productive. At least, I have produced many things. Some things. I made pains au chocolat and I began making Christmas puddings. I wish I'd started a couple of weeks ago, but I didn't have the perfect recipe. Fortunately there's two puddings, we'll have a young one this year and a mature one next year. It will be perfect.

One of the things you need for Christmas pudding is brandy. I don't drink brandy, not really. I don't even have brandy glasses. So I have no experience in choosing it - I selected the cheapest Waitrose had to offer and went home to be productive.

Archie tried the brandy and told me it was better than the last cheap bottle he'd bought, but not actually good. Archie likes to think of himself as someone who "appreciates dark spirits." He even drinks whisky. No one knows why. Either way, I am inclined to trust his assessment, I have no reason not to.

Later, after mixing a large measure with dried fruit etc, I decided to try a small measure myself. In a wine glass (this must change). I do not like brandy. That, or I only like really good brandy, and I haven't tried it yet.

It was only today that I remember how much I like Brandy Alexanders. It's one of the only creamy cocktails I'll drink. Booze with milk or cream is weird, milkshakes are excellent without being adulterated like that. It's unnatural. For Brandy Alexanders, though, I will make an exception.

So, now I need one. I don't have any creme de cacao so I'll either have to buy some or go to a cocktail bar. It's probably best that I do the former. Being in cocktail bars with the wrong crowd can make me inpatient. It's hard to lean back in my seat and maintain an air of complete relaxation when your companions have been nursing the same drink for an hour and a half.

I don't want to have to stab someone to death with my heels and drink their blood while demanding a mojito with no sugar* from the terrified bar staff. It always takes forever to get the blood out of the silk. Maybe if I wear a red pair? Worth considering.

Unfortunately, I have financially crippled myself by deciding to go on a weekend trip to Budapest (this weekend! Eeeep!) As such I can't really afford to be buying liqueurs. Much less showing up in court for murdering people in cocktail bars.

Now, they say that necessity is the mother of invention and they are right. I have made a discovery. Would you like to know what it is?

Brandy with cream and no creme de cacao is dreadful. I shall give it a name. I shall call it "Necessity." I truly hope it will never live up to it.

*Mojitos are better when people don't feel the need to sweeten them. Fact. I don't care that it's not the generally accepted way to do it, it's still better. Hell, I'd rather you just gave me rum, lime juice and mint, skip the sugar and skip the soda too.

Daiquiris

There was some very good white rum left in the fridge.

There was four limes in the fruit bowl.

There was a bottle of cointreau I'd opened to add a little to this week's cake, even though I'd sworn not to open any of the party booze until the party.

There was one metric fuckload of ice in the freezer.

Now there are only headaches.

Although, thankfully I am fine as usual*. People keep warning me that this will change, I refuse to believe them. I've had hangovers before. I didn't like the first one, and a few months later I had another, just to be sure. That one wasn't fun either, so these days, I just skip them, in spite of how many people choose to have them on a regular basis. I will not be swayed by popular choice, I will stay hangover free (though not always clear headed, I am after all still going to get very drunk).

My mother seems to deal with drinking in the same way. She's the only women I know who can out-drink me and still feel fine in the morning. Clearly I have inherited her metabolism, allowing me to drink all I want, and with will-power alone feel great the next day.

Perhaps this is evolution in practice. People need to get drunk, but they also need to not get ill. Those who are capable of processing alcohol in such a way as to get drunk cheaply and not get ill are "the fittest" and can pass their genetic material onto the next generation because they'll never choke to death on their own vomit, or end up in hospital having cracked their head on the toilet seat.

Eventually the human race will be able to process all kind of interesting drugs - enjoying the good effects, skipping the bad ones. Maybe it works like bacteria; if you expose a petri-dish of bacteria to penicillin, eventually some of them will learn to process it harmlessly. If you expose heroin addicts to heroin, eventually they'll enjoy it without addiction or harm. Of course, it'll take longer for the heroin addicts, because they're slightly more complex creatures. Many of them will die in horrible ways - but in the name of science, surely it's worth it?

*Daiquiris are delicious. I'll have to buy rum after I've bought everything else, or I'll end up drinking all the party booze with my flat-mates well before I throw the party.

PS. Sorry for not writing for a week, it wasn't out of being too lazy or too busy, it's just that I don't want to write if I have nothing to say. Fortunately though, now I do - the value of what I have to say is, as always, up for debate.

Psychological Knee Cancer

Well, I've had a good run, but I guess everyone's got to go sometime. I'm afraid to tell you that my time seems to be quite close.

There was once what I believed to be a perfectly benign freckle on my left knee. Now, on my left knee is only impending doom. It had changed not only shape, but also colour, so surely all hope must be lost.

I strongly suspect that the fact that about a quarter of my left knee has also changed shape and colour is because of the cancer that started at the freckle. It definitely cannot be related to the fact that I went out on Wednesday and drank too much Havana Club and coke* and then walked rather forcefully into a chair-leg. Several chair-legs. And a chest of drawers. Hell, at least I was still walking, more than I can say for some. My point is, any fool can tell a bruise from a tumor, right?

If I did have a tumor, I'd name it after Bono.

*My tipple of choice on a night out is Bacardi and coke, the reason being that it's a fairly good, but also fairly cheap rum. If I don't have a tumor, and if I survive psychological knee cancer, I must remember that Radio do such cheap deals even on interesting spirits on Wednesdays.

You've Gone All Yellow

I am a kind and caring friend. When people need my help I only occasionally pretend to be on my wayto do something important. If asked to go out for a drink with someone I don't like, I tend to say I have no money, in order to avoid hurting their feelings. No one could accuse me of being unnecessarily mean to someone I didn't think deserved it.

Today Sonia called when I got home, and asked me if I'd like to go to Curler's with her friends for a beer and a burger. I like Sonia, but Curler's is not my favourite place, and I don't know if I like all of her friends. It seems that tonight I have no money.

She persisted, and asked me to come for a cup of tea and flapjack. I like both of these things, even better when they're free and combined with the kind of excessively juicy gossip only Sonia provides me with. I arrived. Late.

Since I am a good friend, I was forced to tell Sonia that she was turning the wrong colour, and that it was possibly due to becoming an alcoholic. I was sensitive and thoughtful, I sung her a song about turning yellow written by the amateur transplants, she enjoyed the song but pointed out that I was exaggerating (which turned out to be true when we left the room with the yellow-ish lighting). She also said that she'd barely drink at all over Christmas, as she'd be home with her family.

I hope that I have a friend good enough to make sure that I drink over Christmas, however, I am not nearly good enough to think that visiting Poland in midwinter to help someone get tipsy is worth it. I shall persevere, and buy her a drink when we're both back in Glasgow. It's what friends are for.

Testing...

Today was interesting. I started with an algebra test, which went ok considering how little I like algebra tests. It turns out I like them better when I know the answers, though why they decided to ask me questions I knew the answers to on this occasion I'll never know - I didn't think that's what tests were for.

After that I met with Alison. Alison is my best friend's mother, and was in Glasgow because she and some of her friends are walking in Scotland, she seemed excited about this, but I was polite and didn't ask her why. We went for lunch in Princess Square. I like Princess Square, because it's too expensive - I like most things that are too expensive, especially when other people are paying.

Lunch was followed by complimentary Amaretto. It seems that Amaretto, whilst being one of my favourite liquers is a terrible thing to drink before a lecture, and now I know this - though the lecture was fun anyway. I also have more things with me now, as Alison was kind enough to bring me some things from home - including a dress that I wore in Paris to stop Parisian traffic. I'm looking forward to stopping Glaswegian traffic, though I doubt it will be as challenging, or impressive.

I also picked up my post. I don't like the postman, or the lady at the post office who doesn't speak any English. The postman only delivers mail when he feels like it (hence picking it up myself, and being charged fifty English pennies for the privilege) and the lady manages to be very rude in whatever language it is she's speaking, she shouts at me a lot. I do though, now have post, which is nice. My mother sent me a lot of things I'd asked for, and couscous. I haven't figured out why she sent me couscous, as she refused to explain, but I'm glad she did.

I am now very tired, and it's only 5.20, though this could be because I got drunk and then sober again, which in my books make it a very long day. Perhaps I'll take it easy this evening, bake a cake or something.