October 01, 2003

I've got a quiet few

I've got a quiet few minutes. PB is in bed, JC is watching Nemo (surprise) with her Grandma, Grandpa is off for a shower, Mrs M is busy thawking tennis balls at an almighty pace, and I'm slowly recovering. Soon JC and I off to the AMC for a birthday party, after which I'll have the pleasure of an afternoon of work. What bites about my job is I don't get public holidays unless all of Asia is off, which is never. We've got a shift system for these days and today I've got the afternoon stretch, which starts off quietly before geting busy just when you hope to make it out the door.

Last night, then, was interesting. A Canadian has come in to work to fill in for a week or so. Being the good host I offered to go for a drink. Accompanied by Tom the Redneck American we started in the Captain's bar of the Mandarin. We downed a quick 3 beers before we hit Lan Kwai Fong, the main bar district near Central. The pace was furious and it would have been rude not to keep up. Some time later I realised I needed to go. I jumped in a taxi and somehow I could make my destination understood. We arrived at what looked like Disneyland, but it was spinning more than usual. Made it up to our flat, and quietly as a drunk I stumbled in. I undressed, laid down in bed for a matter of seconds before heading to the bathroom and spending an hour talking on the great white telephone to God.

It's funny. You realise things when you're in a state like that. You realise that you really should eat before you have a big night. You realise that alcohol can pretend to be your friend when it is really seeking to undermine you. And you learn to make promises that will not last in the cold light of a sober morning. Usually these promises start at "I'll never drink again" before moving to the "I am going to become a monk in the Italian Alps and foreswear all vice" variety. Mrs M was very supportive during this introspective trip through the depths of my soul, providing bread and water so I can get used to a monastic life.

There's something about a session in a bathroom that you finally reach a point where you know you are done. You've come through the darkness and have finally reached the light. You have nothing left to give of yourself. You are at one with the world. A welcoming bed no longer turns on its axis. Sleep quickly overwhelms you. Then 5 hours later your eldest girl lets you know its time for milk. In our house we have only one rule - it doesn't matter if you play up and stay out until silly hours, but the girls come first and the routine is kept. Luckily there was no hint of a hangover, and my sheepish looks at Mrs M confirmed that my night of revelery was no dream. If only she would stop looking back at me with a mixture of sympathy, envy and glee then I could pretend it never happened. And forget my promises.

Posted by Simon at October 1, 2003 10:38 AM | TrackBack
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