Some like white, others red, the majority don’t really care what colour it is as long as they can get inebriated to the point they can’t walk or remember who they’re snogging. You know who you are.
I found myself in a wine bar the other night with a few colleagues. Someone asked me what I wanted to drink. My eyes scanned across the bar table looking for an ale pump but to my disgust but actually not that unsurprising there wasn’t any. So I had to choose between white, red or champagne. I considered champagne but realised that when it was my turn to buy the drinks I’d be scorched with an order of Cristal when all I good afford was Babycham. I was going to select white which had been my choice of wine for the last four years when “I’ll have the red” spurted out of my pie hole.
“I’ll have the red” reverberated round my partially empty head like a whirring fly. I hadn’t drunk red for years. The reason being just one. When I was in sixth form we went to the local watering hole one spring Friday lunchtime and started drinking red vino for no particular reason. I guess we were all trying to be sophisticated while discussing the current issues in Kosovo. I’d of worn a cravat if I could turn back time now. By 9pm, I couldn’t hold my pool cue straight anymore, I kept resting it on my wrist but still insisted on taking the shot. As I was focussing on the ball, I realised that something unpleasant was stirring in my stomach, my mouth suddenly started to salivate profusely and my palms started to get clammy. I was all too familiar with this procedure. No I wasn’t going to turn into the American Werewolf in London, I was going to projectile vomit. I dropped the cue and rushed to the toilet which was on the right hand corner, luckily there wasn’t anyone in the only cubicle. I remember getting on my knees when the contents of my food gushed from me splashing rather waywardly all over the inside of the toilet. I didn’t even have enough time to suck in a much needed breath before my next rushing of vomit came spewing out, splattering the walls as much as the toilet this time. My eyes watering and my body trembling slightly I laid myself against the toilet when all of a sudden the toilet lid came crashing down towards my head. There was a crash, a bang and then a hazy memory of being lifted up and taken home.
That thought had risen from the subconscious of my mind and nestled itself right at the forefront which caused me to feel slightly uneasy as I started to sip the red again. I don’t know what I was all worried about though, it tasted lush, in fact I had another glass, then another and before you know it I was wasted again. Only difference this time was I knew that if I wasn’t careful I would become reacquainted with the toilet and disgrace, although I’m sure this wine bar’s toilet was a lot finer than the pub’s. Anyhow, I wasn’t planning to find out so I relaxed from drinking for a bit and concentrated on conversation, flirting and rolling Old Drum cigarettes.
I was pretty chuffed that I wasn’t sick from red wine, this meant there was no stupid contorting of the face and shuddering of the shoulders, which is reaction I make every time I hear a drink I’ve been sick on. I still can’t drink Tequila. So now I’ve started to drink red wine quite regularly, it started off at 1 glass a night and was recently upgraded to two glasses each night. It all seemed to be going quite well until I saw this, http://news.bbc.co.uk/player/nol/newsid_6460000/newsid_6461300/6461303.stm?bw=bb&mp=rm,and thought, “f*&k sakes, I’ve only just got back into wine”. I’ve deliberately decided to ignore the messages of this video as it seems just another example of government ‘scare tactics’, I’ll just carry on slurping the red, thank you.
I found myself in a wine bar the other night with a few colleagues. Someone asked me what I wanted to drink. My eyes scanned across the bar table looking for an ale pump but to my disgust but actually not that unsurprising there wasn’t any. So I had to choose between white, red or champagne. I considered champagne but realised that when it was my turn to buy the drinks I’d be scorched with an order of Cristal when all I good afford was Babycham. I was going to select white which had been my choice of wine for the last four years when “I’ll have the red” spurted out of my pie hole.
“I’ll have the red” reverberated round my partially empty head like a whirring fly. I hadn’t drunk red for years. The reason being just one. When I was in sixth form we went to the local watering hole one spring Friday lunchtime and started drinking red vino for no particular reason. I guess we were all trying to be sophisticated while discussing the current issues in Kosovo. I’d of worn a cravat if I could turn back time now. By 9pm, I couldn’t hold my pool cue straight anymore, I kept resting it on my wrist but still insisted on taking the shot. As I was focussing on the ball, I realised that something unpleasant was stirring in my stomach, my mouth suddenly started to salivate profusely and my palms started to get clammy. I was all too familiar with this procedure. No I wasn’t going to turn into the American Werewolf in London, I was going to projectile vomit. I dropped the cue and rushed to the toilet which was on the right hand corner, luckily there wasn’t anyone in the only cubicle. I remember getting on my knees when the contents of my food gushed from me splashing rather waywardly all over the inside of the toilet. I didn’t even have enough time to suck in a much needed breath before my next rushing of vomit came spewing out, splattering the walls as much as the toilet this time. My eyes watering and my body trembling slightly I laid myself against the toilet when all of a sudden the toilet lid came crashing down towards my head. There was a crash, a bang and then a hazy memory of being lifted up and taken home.
That thought had risen from the subconscious of my mind and nestled itself right at the forefront which caused me to feel slightly uneasy as I started to sip the red again. I don’t know what I was all worried about though, it tasted lush, in fact I had another glass, then another and before you know it I was wasted again. Only difference this time was I knew that if I wasn’t careful I would become reacquainted with the toilet and disgrace, although I’m sure this wine bar’s toilet was a lot finer than the pub’s. Anyhow, I wasn’t planning to find out so I relaxed from drinking for a bit and concentrated on conversation, flirting and rolling Old Drum cigarettes.
I was pretty chuffed that I wasn’t sick from red wine, this meant there was no stupid contorting of the face and shuddering of the shoulders, which is reaction I make every time I hear a drink I’ve been sick on. I still can’t drink Tequila. So now I’ve started to drink red wine quite regularly, it started off at 1 glass a night and was recently upgraded to two glasses each night. It all seemed to be going quite well until I saw this, http://news.bbc.co.uk/player/nol/newsid_6460000/newsid_6461300/6461303.stm?bw=bb&mp=rm,and thought, “f*&k sakes, I’ve only just got back into wine”. I’ve deliberately decided to ignore the messages of this video as it seems just another example of government ‘scare tactics’, I’ll just carry on slurping the red, thank you.
1 comment:
I have a similar teenage red wine experience which I try not to remember. I am still a fan of red wine, but the hangover is truely awful.
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