Drunken Christmas Story - Part II
By popular demand, here is a second snippet of a story of drunken fortitude in one Irishman’s quest to travel directly from a Christmas work party in England to reach Ireland in time for Christmas.
You can read the 1st part of this Irish Christmas story here, but it’s not really necessary.
Yes, alcohol consumption in excess is being glorified. Because alcohol commands respect, not ignorance. And because sometimes it’s funny.
After coming to, while standing up in a train station, I eventually establish what day it is, and what city it is. Avoiding the police who threatened to arrest me I make my way upstairs to the Transport Police, who must surely be used to drunken Irish men in suits with obscene slogans on their bloodied foreheads.
Having lost my train ticket, boat ticket, all my money, and my wallet, I asked for suggestions. The nice policeman said I should call someone I know, reverse charges, and ask them to wire me a train ticket.
-Call somebody? At this hour?
-It’s ten to eight in the evening sir
As he was closer to the wall than I was, I trusted the clock was in focus for him.
Just one step was all it took to descend the metal spiral staircase, as it changed into a chute, albeit one with metal bumps. I must have had my hands in the right place though, for I landed on my feet at the bottom. In contrast with the Bishop of Southwark, I defy anybody sober to make that short trip.
In your darkest hour you remember the phone numbers of people you love, although the loving can turn out to be one-directional. In my defence I had to crouch down and whisper in the phone box because the nasty police of the arresting kind were near. They were so near they saw me and opened the phone box door.
-We’re sick of seeing you around here. If we see you again you’ll be arrested
Loved and ticketed I am then sitting on a train. I look out the window at all the Irish people on the platform in this English city. I wonder where all the Irish people might be going this close to Christmas. And why isn’t anybody else on this train?
To read the destination of the train I have to open the window on the door, put my head out and read upside down, while the train is moving - a standard manouevre for any drunk.
-Edinburgh? I’m not Scottish, I say as I open the door and jump out to proudly join my people.
In a crowd of over a hundred I walk directly over to a woman, and point at her large bag beside her.
-Is this your bag?
Not knowing that because I’m drunk the words in my head do not match the words I speak, and the words in my head are actually, Is this seat free? She answers,
-Yes
-Thank you, I say, and promptly sit on her bag.
Being the coolest woman on the planet, she behaves as if men sit on her bags every day, and together we chat as we wait for the train and wherever it might take us. Which for her is home to Ireland, and for me, well the story continues.
See Also:
• Drunken Christmas Story Part I
• Drunken Christmas Story Part III
• Merry Christmas, I mean Happy Christmas
• Travelling by Train in Ireland
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