Two days to burn

A common problem amongst professionals (people with a job) is how best to spend your days off in a constructive and yet essentially efficient manner. Many a... minute have a pondered this problem at work, on the toilet, with one foot against the rickety old door, trying to prevent the unknown from storming my stronghold.

Time and time again, I fall back upon the age old adage of "go out, get sh1t faced" (repeat to fade)

And so with a reluctance I could only manage to disguise as complete excitement I met up with my long standing associate and newly acquainted drinking bud Jim (Yim, Y, J, Jay, Yaka, Sacred etc etc).

We're going to need a bigger basket

For four long and dust filled hours we struggled, mainly him really but I'm talking my part up, to construct a devious device of unseen music emmittance which is also more commonly known as a 'boot build.'

During this time we also popped to a local shopping emporium named Halfords. It sells various products including bicycles, car engine oil, windscreen wiper blades, air freshener, speakers, cycling shorts and more recently car cleaning products. When I say car cleaning products, I don't refer to the usual tack that mere mortals would usually buy, oh no. This stuff is the creme de la pasteurised, the champion of the best and the leader of the flock!!

How Jim's little face lit up as we turned the corner into the aisle named "It's here you mug, get out your cold hard cash" He stopped. (suddenly because i walked straight into him). He stared. He (pratically) drooled. Product after product was picked up, until eventually Jim looked me in the eye and said "I'm going to need a basket."

The products looked flash, and they bore a name that was slightly too close to Midge Ure for my liking. They came in an assortment of bottles, bags, sprays and sponge things. Needless to say, the products they stocked are no longer there, Jim bought them all!

With a whimper he handed over £20 note after £20 note, as they loaded the items into two full carrier bags. And as we struggled from the store, I glanced back to see three members of staff sat atop the till whilst another two tried in vain to close the draw containing Jim's oodles of cash.

When back at his place, Jim began to load a cupboard with his cleaning products. I kid you not, this boy is ill. In all, there must have been over 30 different cleaning items, some of which had duplicates or even triplicates.

And is Jim's car clean? ...is it phuk!!!

The Bells.. The Bells!!!

As the hour was now late and the time had come and gone we elected to drink heinous amounts of alcohol at his house rather than risk a fight over a spilt kebab in a local town. We raced from shop to shop looking for booze. We eventually found our salvation in a small "offie" near North Cheam. We did wish to select Jack Daniels to while away the hours but instead had to plump for Bell's. It looked the same, cost the same, but turned out to be stronger. Result!!

And so the drinks began with bottled lager, but soon the Bell's was unleashed in tall glasses mixed energetically with Coke (the drink). It hit us hard and as we went onto consume the best part of 3/4 of a litre of whisky everything became ridiculously funny. We didn't feel all that drunk, but every other moment was spent giggling like Brownies at a cake sale, as the mind numbingly dull became a golden comedy moment.

We eventually ebbed out at around 6am and slept like the comatosed drunken monkeys we had become. When morning had been and gone, and the afternoon reared it's ugly head, alarms sounded and we awoke to the day we had onyl just left.

It was then we recalled the appointments we had made to view prospective properties to buy.

Don't look at the carpet, and lean against the walls.. they'll never notice

We both agreed that we had no hang over (yay) but when I tried to walk and J attempted speach we realised we had a problem. Our bodies had transcended to a time in the mid Eighties when we were but young children and the simplest task had become a challenge.

We arrived at the first property by a means of transport known only to J and I (after consuming a hot tea each and some cheese on toast). We met up with our Estate Agent and were whisked into the first place.

We asked intelligent questions and presumed an air of "we're not p1ssed, we know what we're doing."

It didn't hold.

I had to leave the house on the pretext of a phone call to gulp copious amounts of fresh air to save from collapsing.

The second property was J's downfall. Upon entering the living room, J looked to the floor and made a loud and clearly audible "Waaahheeur" noise. Then came the advice, "don't look at the floor, it'll make you chuck." Needless to say, what was the first thing I did.

Yep. From my leaned position by a wall, I looked down and then snapped my head back up at break neck speed. We then spent an agonising 10 minutes rebuffing the agents approaches of conversation to attempt an early exit from the place to the sanctity of primary colours outside.

The carpet was a chequered design in a creamy pastel colour. Closest comparison I could find for sober eyes was...


Outside J received the call that blew our cover completely. Whilst on the phone, he had said the following -

1) Hi, yeah... okay... could wu tid...
2) that's fine cand you, can you calld him
3) No, we're hear'd with them now, him

Eventually we fessed up with the overly proud "we're still drunk from yesterday!"

We fled the second headed for the other two. One we never made it to and the other was basically a bit ca-ca-poo-poo.

During our journeys to these two J continued to attempt phone calls to two different Estate agents. Starting all of them with a loud "HELLO MATE" and most usually contained a moment when J said the wrong name and then realised he hadn't called who he meant to.

How we laughed. How they wish we hadn't approached them to buy a house.

A word of warning to the wise - don't go house shopping whilst under the influence.

Both J and I now own a room in an old people's home, a bungalow with extensive fire damage and a small apartment in Sarajevo with awful lino in the welcome hall and an unexploded mortar round in the spare bedroom.

You have been warned.