Another night spent on the couch, another night of screeching and whooping and cheering from the folks next door.
I'd get annoyed if they didn't remind me of me, of us, in 32A circa 1999, or 2000, or whenever it was that we'd ritually gather in the tiny garden outside to throw young people at old people and to drink the Kwik Pils.
Ten for a fiver.
8 comments:
I know that feeling. You don't want to be that guy. But you are.
I know. I am. Worse I'm getting.
Vengeance is reeked upon your aging senses!
I seem to remember you encouraging folks to relieve themselves into your next door neighbour's front garden once.
Or perhaps I took that upon myself. Unprompted.
Either way, uppance has come.
Ah, memories.
Sometimes I look back on evenings and mornings and adventures and wonder if it was real. Was it a film I saw, or a book I read, or a life I lived...? And sometimes I'm not quite sure.
Raise a glass.
Happens to the best of us old timer. Talk to Joe. 1850 715 815.
McMuck - I recall that, but I thought it was one of our female brethren that had a little puke into next door's garden?
Susan - Oh this was all too real.
NaRocRoc - Lots of Setanta bashing on Joe this week. I'd best not.
But you're only young? I don't get all this life past stuff. It only gets better!
Possibly. Probably. I can't be expected to remember details. I was very, very drunk that year.
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