A Person Walks Into A Bar
No night out ever starts with shots. Especially tequila. Tequila is a choice people only make as part of a chain of bad ones. I’ve never drunk tequila before midnight.
I should have said no. I should have said no to the rum before it. I should have said no to the whisky before that, and probably at least two of the beers before the whisky.
I definitely should have said no to the yellow stuff that tasted like aniseed that came after the tequila. But to be honest by that point I’m not sure I was capable of saying much.
It was supposed to be a celebration. No, wait that came later; it was supposed to be a quiet drink after work. Just three of us having a quick catch up. But then three became five, and announcements were made, and suddenly it was a party. By then I was already half cut. I should have stayed for the toast, made my apologies and headed home. Left the rest of them to it. That would have been nice. A lovely evening, a nice capper to the week.
But I didn’t, and now here I am.
I just wish I knew where here is. That sign, is that in Welsh? Am I in Wales? Or is it Gaelic? Is it possible that I managed to get to Scotland?
I remember being at St Pancras. Why was I at St Pancras?
Where am I? How do I get home? Where’s my wallet?
And where the hell are my shoes?