I have spent the last two days stone cold sober. Unbelievable I know. But I have been quite humourously ill. Prior to a nice 48 hour body sauna I had, although not sober, been attempting to be good, or at least better than last year to ensure a better Christmas loot for 2012 (I mean three hats is pretty shockingly shit even by my families standards).
This time last year as I remember I returned to London in between Christmas and NYE so I could go to some gym classes and be at my optimum drinking fitness. I had a personal trainer and everything. For NYE I went to a night called "Stick it On" at the King and Queen which divided me and my friends as they refused to go to a pub which housed English Defence League meetings. I ended up going to a series of different pubs and seeing a range of different people and playing a game of "grab the fit guys arse" with my sister.
The night ended in a flat with a young man I know playing some sexy fiddle whilst another one lap danced for me, Dr T spoke incessantly about Mammoths and Dr L lost the ability to speak and blondie ran away. This year I had Sky+. Brilliant. Anyway back to how Christmas ended rather than the NYE that never was...
The Day of Jesus
So after the whole "motorboat me troll" statement. Things really only got worse. Unemployment really has led to a lowering of my social standards and ability to interact. The start of Christmas day in the pub ended with troll making a serious of false accusations about me. Which all my friends decided to believe (I definitely protested too much). Upon leaving the pub we had to assist betterthangoogle into his thermals. The walk home consisted of me, an architect and betterthangoogle fighting over which was the best kebab house. I got home just before 3am. I woke at home at 7am with a kebab on my face and the dog licking it and my mum violently hoovering. Another new low achieved.
Hat O'Clock
By 11am favourite uncle had turned up. This year he had presents. Including hat 1 of 3. It turned out we all had a hat. A blue one. Like smurfs. He made us all wear them. We met my brother and his wifey at 11:30am at the bottom of the road. They too were given said hats. We gave favourite uncle a hat. It was black and white and it said "Bah Humbug!" on it. We walked all the way to Nans' care home. My brother gave me hat 2 of 3. Upon putting hat 2 of 3 in oversized lady bag I found hat 3 of 3 from my friends in the pub.
By the time I walked into the care home I had put all three hats on. Not sure who looked more special, me with three hats or visibly mentally disabled uncle with Bah Humbug! hat on. My vote was with me;because upon entering new home a lovely oldie introduced himself to me, leaned in, gave me a kiss on the cheek and then whispered in my ear "Someone like you should just cut yourself." Fabulous.
Upon entering care home further there was a baby crying. Me and favourite uncle did not like this sound. Nor did the oldies. Thankfully one of them started chanting "stick a dummy in it" and the rest of the joined in. Said baby left the room. Dinner was duly served. Hugs given to nanny. A bit of chit chat. And we left.
We went for a walk on the beach on the way home. People were actually laughing at the stupid hats. We saw people we knew. They took pictures of us and stupid hats. A complete freak show. For a large percentage of the walk home I could smell cannabis. As it is Brighton and the beach I thought nothing of it. Not an uncommon occurrence.
We got back to the flat and stuck Happy Feet on. Brother and wifey had left us. Favourite Uncle kept choking whilst smoking. Told him to stop. He did. Before lunch he had a little tumble. Lunch was served. I spent the rest of the afternoon with one eye open watching him and the other shut. Eventually I dozed off.
You're spending Christmas in the back of ambulance
When I woke up it was about 6pm. We all woke up. It turned out we were all sleeping. No one had been watching Favourite Uncle. Fucking food coma. We had all jolted awake because of a supersonic boom sound. But from where. Where was uncle?
He was in the garden. On the floor. Like an obese turtle lying on his back. This was not good. Blood was gushing from his head. Mum was screaming. Mum's Man was pacing. A true Christmas nightmare had unfolded.
Time for an ambulance.
Favourite Uncle does not like hospitals or Doctors. Unless they are prescribing him Valium and lying to him about his blood sugar levels. Now as this never happens because he is as mad as a hatter and a non-compliant diabetic he was pretty fucking angry about this whole "Your spending Christmas in the back of an ambulance" business. Tried hitting mummy, would only respond when spoken to in a baby voice by me and was insisting on smoking still whilst his head was spuing blood.
A and E
As I was the only sober person in the house I got Uncle duty. I was fine with this. Until I realised how long I would have to wait. And how limited FUs' ability to play "I spy is". He spied the lights a total of 18 times in
To further kill time and cause a scene any time a member of hospital staff went past FU would point at me and say "She pushed me" or "She stuck her legs out from under the sofa and tripped me up". Which meant when I was being spoken to by the nurses and the consultants I was spoken to with an air of suspicion. Mum had warned me that he was very angry about the trip to the hospital and would try all manner of shit, before getting into the ambulance she was shouting about how he often goes up to a and e using different pseudonyms (dedicated to the cause of opiates and hoodwinking people on the end of shift it seems). One exchange on Christmas night at a and e included this;
FU: "Please don't glue my head together.
Nurse: "It will be fine".
FU: "But I am not a robot."
Me:[singing to the tune of Marina and The Diamonds "I am not a Robot"] "Guess
WHHHHHHHAAAAATTTTT you're not a robot, a robot"
FU: "You can not sing [starts singing] I am not a robot, a robot"
[at this point we are getting him into a robe, and low and behold the bastard has a fucking 1/2
bottle of whiskey down his trousers, that would explain the fall and the ridiculous blood sugar
count]
Nurse: "I am going to attach these sticky pads to you".
FU: "Perhaps I am a robot?"
Me: "If you were a robot, we would not be at a & e on Christmas day, because you would have
be programmed to listen to me"
FU: "Good point, but unfavoured niece of mine, no one listens to you".
Obviously, because of the whiskey another discussion took place. This was the point I decided to leave. Especially when it turned out the reason I could smell cannabis and thought I was having flashbacks to my sixth form common room was in-fact because favourite uncle had skanked a cheeky doobie for the Christmas walk to the care home from one of people he lives with. I was really cross with him. He had made me look stupid and irresponsible. He was laughing manically as I left and they were wheeling him to X-ray. Bastard.
The rest of the festive season...
Was spent in pubs and walking and eating nice food with friends. The night before NYE we went out. I will contest I was not drunk ( I mean it may have been a two day hangover which killed my NYE celebrations but this seems unlikely). We went to the pub. It was nice. I was going to go clubbing. But I suddenly felt very ill. So I got a taxi and went home. Fell out of taxi, taxi driver had to get me up.
At 5am on NYE I woke up. Howling. Mummy came in. I projectiled on her. I ran/crawled/stumbled to the bathroom. More nastiness ensued. This continued for hours. Eventually daddy rang. He had my little sister in tow (she told me she is 7 now). They wanted to take me for lunch. I went. I threw up before, after and during. My dad made me take my little sister to the toilet each time I needed to go. Her silence of my sickness set me back £15 pounds for some shit art glitter craft box. She said she would make me something. I told her not to bother. On the way home I thought I had shat myself.
Thankfully, it turns out daddy has heated car seats. But that warm sensation gave me the illusion of having pooped my pants. There are few social exchanges worse than turning to your dad in his nice new car and saying in hushed tones "I think I have shat myself, I am so sorry" him laughing and then the nosey seven year old chipping in and going "No! You haven't I used to think that and sometimes still do, it is the bum toasters that are on". Total humiliation. I think I would have rather of shat myself.
I have remained in bed.
Me and FU have spoken since. He has apologised. Though still claims he did nothing wrong and was trying to enter the Christmas spirit.
The best thing of this season is that I am now in love.
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