It was a dark and gloomy night, scratch that, it was a fine evening, effing fine in fact, and I don’t use poorly disguised profanity for just any situation.
Freely flowing alcohol, a lingering smell cigarette smoke and spectacular karaoke, the best my little town has to offer.
The company was charming and beautiful, though, as usual I failed to hold my end of the bargain. The grim realisation of my own magnificent inadequacies distracted me into a series of obscure silences. A few million years away from flinging feces and walking on my forearms, and I still couldn’t hold a conversation to save the life a pup eyed orphan named Tom-Tom.
All is not lost; I am one pub wiser, four drinks stupider and have set the record straight with regard to my ability to hold a note whilst flailing frantically as if leaping from sinking cruise vessel.
Here’s one for ethanol.