Author Topic: MAY AMUSE (Dredged from my memory by another thread on this board)  (Read 1099 times)

Offline Gyppo

  • Esteemed Contributor
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 72244
  • I've been writing ever since I realised I could.

If only I could gets my hands on a spoonful of poteen - does wonders for storytelling ...

Story*telling*, yes.  But once the keys start doing their random relocation trick beneath your fingers, or you find yourself unable to decide which of the three pens to apply to any one of the multitude of pads swirling before your eyes effective writing is a thing of the past.  Here's a tale from a day when inspiration - or seemingly good ideas anyway - was flowing freely, but I couldn't have written a word to save my life.  (Fortunately, alcohol never blanked my memory.)

A friend and I once shared the last half pint of some incredibly potent homebrewed ale whilst sat in the garden one long ago summer.  (Bear in mind that we both in our late twenties and considered ourselves to be - normally - quite mighty drinkers.  Quarter of a pint each wasn't going to do anything to *us*, was it?)

Never had my friends stories seemed so funny, and apparently my own words were equally hilarious.  He was telling me a rather gruesome tale about a workmate who had managed to get a fine chisel stuck through his hand and for some reason it seemed screamingly funny.  He kept telling me 'It wasn't funny' but he was semi-convulsed himself by then.   It was only later that I realised falling out of the chair as he demonstrated the accident with much arm waving and cursing wasn't part of the tale.

I vaguely recall getting to my own feet - although knees would probably be more accurate - and attempting to get him back into his chair before his Missus came home from shopping.  I don't know why it became so important, but after the first failed attempt it became an obsession.  I nearly managed it, but each time he slumped and just lay there giggling, which did nothing to alleviate my own merriment at his plight.  And frustration at his drunken inability to co-operate.

I crawled down his garden - by God it was a long way -  and came back with a scaffolding plank intending to 'Use Physics, Old Chap' to get him back into his chair.  My plan, such as it was, was to lever him off the ground and swing him into his chair.  (Look, it made sense at the time...)

For a pivot I had to use my own chair.  I rolled him onto the canted plank to cries of "Are you sure this is a good idea?" and then tried to lever the other end down.  Back then I was built like a whippet (six feet and 9 stone) and my mate was about four stone heavier, so it was never going to be a very fruitfull exercise.

I eventually got him to sit - perhaps slump would be more honest - 'sidesaddle' on his end of the plank and rearranged the pivot so I had a longer lever to work with.  The analytical side of my brain was still working fine at this point and I figured he would be able to stagger into his chair when I lifted his arse high enough.

I couldn't walk up the steeply canted plank so I cunningly approached it from underneath, and hung below it, arms and legs wrapped tightly around it like a monkey on a stick, and felt myself sinking towards the ground as my mate rose about two feet off the ground and then fell off sideways.

My end of the plank smacked me one across the forehead as it hit the ground, the pivot/chair slid out from underneath, and after rearing skywards and looking absolutely huge against the sky the other end slammed back down and smacked my mate in the bollocks.

And that was how his wife found us.  My mate curled in a ball, cluching his groin but still giggling uncontrollably, and me semi-stunned with a fresh red bruise on my forehead, also giggling.

After ascertaining that neither of us was seriously injured she went back indoors and made us coffee.  Whilst doing so she came to the conclusion that I must have hit her husband in the bollocks for some reason and he had then retaliated by smacking me one with the plank.  When we eventually calmed down enough to explain things she started laughing like one of those 'laughing bag' toys and set us off all over again.

So, whilst alcohol can provoke all kinds of things, and a good memory will recall most of them, there was no way I could have written about it whilst still under the afluence of incohol.


PS:  If you've seen this in the other thread you're not 'seeing double'.
My website is currently having a holiday, but will return like the $6,000,000 man.  Bigger, stronger, etc.

In the meantime, why not take pity on a starving author and visit my book sales page at