Читать книгу Surprisingly Down to Earth, and Very Funny - Limmy - Страница 21

It was in Millport that I had my first drink. I was only 14, but that’s quite late compared to the other folk that were around me.

When I first met all these people in Millport, I was the only one that didn’t drink. I didn’t like the state people got in when they were drunk back in Glasgow. They were a mess. They flopped about, they were half asleep, whereas I was hyperactive. I was like a fucking puppy, full of energy and excitement, and I wanted to keep it that way. I’d tell people that I didn’t have to have a drink to have a good time. I was full of that patter.

Then, one night, I decided to have one.

There was usually a big crowd of us, but all I remember from this time was that there were just the four of us. There was me, this lassie I knew, her boyfriend, and her cousin, who was this new lassie I’d just met. I was getting off with this lassie, the cousin. She was a nice person, with braces in her teeth. I think she was having a drink, and that’s maybe why I decided to have one, because if this nice person is having one, maybe I should have one as well.

I asked them what I should get, because I didn’t want to be flopping about, I didn’t want to get in that state. So they recommended three cans of Bud. That was my first drink. Three cans of Bud.

I drank them, and I liked them. I liked the taste. They were like cans of shandy you could get in a shop, not too strong.

I waited to feel something.

Then I started to feel it.

This glow.

I started to feel this happiness.

I remember the four of us sitting in the Ritz Cafe, with me smiling from ear to ear, telling them that it was the best feeling I’d ever felt. I honestly couldn’t stop smiling. I had this big smile and a sense of well-being. The other three were laughing at how much I was going on about it.

We went back to a house, where we just sat in the living room. Me and the cousin would get off with each other now and then, and the other lassie and her boyfriend would get off with each other on another seat. It’s funny how we’d all do that when we were young, get off with folk in the same room as other folk.

I think the cousin left Millport the next day, and it was time for me to head home as well. We didn’t swap numbers or addresses or anything, and I didn’t see her back in Millport again.

The next time I saw her was in Glasgow, about five years later. I was in George Square. And I was fucking steaming.

I was waiting for the late-night bus on a Saturday night. The place was busy with people trying to get home after being in the pubs and clubs and student unions, and I was by myself, drunk, and probably being all bitter. Then I saw her in the distance. She was with pals, pointing to a bus or taxi, smiling. She looked nice. She looked like a nice person, just like she did before. She was too far away for me to run over and say hello to, but I knew anyway what state I was in. Even in that state, I knew what state I was in. I’d be a slurring, slabbering monster. Remember me? Remember they three cans of Bud? Look at me now. Ta-da!

About five years after that, I was sitting in work with a hangover, the worst hangover of my life. A hangover that lasted the whole week. And it just so happened to be caused by a weekend trip to Millport.

I’d went fucking daft. I was steaming on the Friday, I was drinking all day Saturday, all day Sunday, I had the Monday off work so I drank all day Monday as well. Tequilas, the lot. Wrecked.

I was still drunk when I went in on the Tuesday, happy as Larry, in my golden hour. But by midday I was a mess. I had ‘the horrors’, as my dad called it. I was sitting in the office toilet, paranoid, thinking everybody was talking about me while I was in there. I had to get out of the toilet in a hurry, because I was starting to get the urge to just stay in there all day.

There was a new guy that had started, over from Belfast. He was about my age, and he was into a drink and going to clubs. He was a chilled-out sort of guy. I could tell he was one of the good guys. And I asked him to accompany me to the pub, because I needed a fucking drink. So he came along, and I told him all about my weekend. He told me I’d be alright.

That night when I got home, I don’t know what was happening to my body, but I thought I was going to die. Genuinely. One of my arms went all numb, for no reason. I wasn’t lying on it or anything. The eyesight in one of my eyes conked out for a few seconds. My insides were making all these sounds that I hadn’t heard before. It was like my body was saying, ‘Nope. Fuck this. Bye.’

The next morning, I didn’t feel that much better. I was ironing my clothes before work, and I felt a tickly feeling go down the back of my leg. I pulled down my joggies and had a look, and there was a light brown bead of liquid running down from my arse. I’d shat myself, and I didn’t even know it.

I went into work, with my scalp crawling and a feeling that I just wanted to vanish. So I asked that Belfast guy if he’d come to the pub with me again. He came along, and made everything alright once again. Like I said, one of the good guys. And he was like that all week until I got better.

It was a nightmare.

And to think it all started with three cans of Bud, because of that nice lassie.

But wait till you hear this.

See that Belfast guy? I looked him up on Facebook recently, to see what he’d been up to. I saw that he’d recently become a dad. I had a wee look through his pictures, and there was him and his wife holding their baby.

When I saw his wife, I nearly fell off my seat.

Because guess who it was.

It was her. That lassie. The cousin.

I kid you fucking not.