MEMEHUNTER

Poisoned to Dearth

I'm not entirely sure what happened last night.

I have collected some clues which I can spread before you. A collection of odds and ends that point to events, suggest causes. A three-dimensional representation of something larger, and ungraspable. A tesseract of an assemblage, unfolded into a recognisable set of dimensions, the original form lost forever. The thing unfolded, but not the thing itself.

1. This morning my coat pocket contained an empty packet of hoola hoops, a king-size Twix and a jar of marmite.
2. There was a text on my phone telling me that my friend was an arsehole.
3. Also on my phone was a picture of me, slumped in an arm chair in a pub I didn't remember being in.
4. Flashbacks of a huge, empty marquee... crowds of people... faceless barstaff.

Put it together and what have you got?
Bibbetty...
...bobbetty...

The plan, of course, was to go out and get drunk with LabmateMike. Suiting action to thought, we met, at 6, in one of the more expensive drinking establishments this town has to offer. We had dinner. I seemed to be powering pints away. I remember that.

The background shimmers and dissolves and we are in the bar of a small hotel. A man starts to play the bagpipes. And why not? The bar is boiling with golfguys. Another shift, a seemless segue and to a larger, more expensive barish pub (pubbish bar?) around the corner.

At this point, the beers begin to bite. The asp of alcohol sinks its fangs into the Cleopatra of my cortex. I begin to sink.

Others arrive, now we are four. Mr X and J(Me') are clear of work. This puts the time at roughly 10.30. Another small hotel bar, but we sit outside this time and LmM and I spend no small amount of time tearing J's discipline apart. Frankly, though, she's had that coming ever since she called Biological Anthropology the "bastard child of sociocultural studies". Frown. At some point after this, I get very, very drunk and stop recording information. I have some flashes. I think I bumped in to someone else I knew, I think I lost LbM for a bit and worried the bouncers by looking for him repeatedly... then there's the bit with the marquee.

Then comes the part called "being in the Vic" of which I have no memory. Well... not much. Bits and pieces. It is during this time that LmM kicks off.

X has filled in some gaps for me. Turns out J didn't take well to being called a moronic fascist. "Everything you've said or done tonight has been moronic, from the very first thing you said to that moronic smile on your face right now".

I'm told that I remained silent through most of the tirade. Apparently only reacting at all to stop X from wandering in to the firing line. He complimented me on being aware of social space even if every other sensory experience was bouncing off me. J stormed out.

My memory starts to resurface after this point.

LmM went off to find someone to punch. X and I wandered homewards. It seems I visited the All Night Garage (see clue 1). X bought me chips (and haggis, it seems... and, at my insistence, a "random sausage"). I decided that the double vision was going to get in the way of watching a film and went to bed.

X tells me when he came upstairs, I had kicked off my duvet and was lying, spreadeagled, on the bed. Given that I had woken up naked, this purturbed me. It seems, however, that at this point I was actually wearing pants. Pants that, he tells me, I removed (whilst still asleep) about 10 minutes later.

Excellent.

Dignity, Memehunter, always dignity.

posted by Memehunter @ 1:17 AM