I'm in a drinking mood.

I don't usually set out to get s--- faced (always seem to end up that way though) but tonight I'm going for it.

I prepare myself by dressing in my special drinking clothes (the jeans have a built in colostomy bag and the shirt is the same colour as my vomit), drinking a bottle of vodka (to line the stomach) and writing my last will and testament.

Then I'm out on the town (or specifically to "The Mutilated Ferret" down the road - the only pub that doesn't have a shoot on sight poster of me behind the bar). There's a band on tonight, so I down shift into party dancer mood and head for the bar.

"Pint of vodka in a straight glass please" I say, almost stuttering in my acute anticipation of the clear liquid of the Gods.

"Yo Dude, Here ya go my man. Hang loose dude!" says the barman. He (the barman) likes everyone to think he's hip and trendy (even though he's a 42 year old, balding, fat Brummie who wears 1/2 inch thick glasses and open toed sandals). He learned to be hip by watching 'Easy Rider' in the 60's while OD'ing on LSD and Babycham (do they really make it out of babies?). He's all right now (24 years later) but still has the occasional flashback (he starts humming "Born to be Wild" and gets a weird glazed expression).

I take my drink and join my drinking companions at a corner table, facing the small stage. I've been drinking with the same group of lads since dropping out of stage school ten years ago. (I was heavily influenced by the film and TV series 'Fame'. I wanted to learn how to dance and sing and play the cello, but it wasn't for me. The long hours, the physical pain, the fact that I slept with the school's child prodigy (a 12 year old singer who once appeared on 'Opportunity Knocks') put an early end to my career in showbiz.)

I think I'll introduce you (my faithful readers) to my drinking buddies:-

Dave, the mild mannered librarian.
Favourite drink:- whisky and Pernod
Favourite topic of conversation:- The type 1789 diesel locomotive and associated carriages.
Most humourous moment when drunk:- Dave managed to flush 68% of his body down the toilet in McDonalds one Sunday lunch time.
Brief Description:- Lank greasy hair, buck teeth, glasses mended with a band aid, brown anorak and open toed sandals. (Fans of the UK TV series Red Dwarf may notice a similarity between Dave and the character Dwayne Dibbley. Just remember that Dwayne is a fictionous character, whereas Dave actually exsists)

Mick, the slaughter house labourer.
Favourite drink:- Rum punch (50% rum, 25% gin, 25% meths, serve with cherry)
Favourite topic of conversation:- How far a pig's brains will fly when hit a claw hammer.
Most Humourous moment when drunk:- Been sick down the front of the arresting officer after urinating on a guard outside Buckingham Palace.
Brief Description:- Built like the proverbial brick s---house. Wears blood stained clothes and wellington boots. Speaks with an Irish accent.

Barry the Gigolo
Favourite drink:- Anything that comes in a large glass with paper umbrellas and a cherry on a stick.
Favourite topic of conversation:- Sex. How he's getting a lot of it and in what positions. (Barry is usually accompanied by a succession of young, blonde, giggling females or one of three middle aged widows.)
Most humourous moment when drunk:- Barry never seems to get drunk no matter how much he drinks and never goes home alone. This man could talk a nun into sleeping with him.
Brief Description:- Seems to change weekly. We thought he was a different person every week for 6 months until we got to know him. He's always better dressed, better looking and richer than anyone around. We only let him drink with us because he insists on buying so many drinks.

So I'm sitting with my old friends, gulping my drink (Its Barry's round next, then again, it always is). Nothing much is happening at the moment, my feet are tingling a bit but that's probably due to my shoes being too small for my feet (they were cheap). Mike finishes his story about the time he stuffed an apprentice up the arse of a dead cow as a bizarre initiation ceremony just in time for the band's first set.

The band scream into their first number and I get up and look for someone to dance with. I scan the room, checking out the young ladies in the room. A girl catches my eye and hurriedly makes her way to the toilet as I move towards her. Undeterred I follow her into the Ladies.

"Excuse me miss" I shout through the bolted door "Would you like to dance with me?"

I'm trying desperately to sound like Sean Connery playing James Bond, but sound like Scotty from Star Trek.

"Piss off you freak!" she screams from behind the door I hear her fumbling in her handbag for her flick knife (I didn't say it was a nice pub!). I panic a little at the thought of what a 20 stone (I like 'em big, I do) female can do with a razor sharp cutting implement, so I head back to the bar (after throwing a bucket of water over the stall door... I never could take rejection).

Barry has got the drinks in and I finish mine in two gulps, my head does a loop the loop and my eyes revolve in their sockets, but I still don't feel drunk. I head back to the bar for a refill, working my way through the gyrating bodies on the dance floor (making sure I brush up against any females... I have to get my kicks somehow). I get to the bar just as a fight breaks out on the dance floor (some girl got her boyfriend to smack another lad for touching her up and the thing escalated).

"Pint of vodka in a straight glass gorgeous" I say, doing my James Cagney impression.

"Here ya' go dude. Say, that's an awesome impression of John Wayne Dude, party on, be excellent man, loike." says the barman. I walk back to the table to watch the fight, although it's all over now the police have arrived (in full riot gear, with horses and dogs...I told you this wasn't a nice place).

The night progresses in much the same manner. By throwing out time I've drunk the pub's stock of Latvian vodka and been rejected by 85% of all the women present and had threats of violence from 90% of the men (The rejections are harder to handle than the threats, when a man threatens me I send Mick over to stare at them for a couple of minutes. They usually apologise and leave within 30 seconds) We decide to call it a night (I still feel 100% sober) and go back to Dave's house to watch his entire collection of 'Star Trek' videos (maybe it's this that makes my James Bond impression sound like Scotty).

I stand up and head for the open door. Standing on the doorstep I take a huge lungful of fresh air...

My head expands to infinite whilst the rest of my body curls into a shape resembling a small pelican. I stretch out my left leg to step into the street and find myself hovering 6 inches from the ground. Dave is on my left vomiting a multi-hued streak of drink and peanuts into a waiting taxi. Mick is struggling in the grip of four policeman as they try to crack his skull with the pub wall (they should know that he keeps his brains in his arse). Barry is getting into the back of a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow driven by Demi Moore, while Sharon Stone holds the door open for him. I hover in my new position watching as the Rolls Royce drives to the end of the street and lifts off, powering into the night on its four jet powered demi-wheels. Strange thing to see at closing time, I think to myself and pass out. I awake on the floor of Dave's bedsit lying in a pool of vomit. The TV is still showing the last few episodes of Star Trek. Dave is sprawled in a chair snoring gently to himself. Mick is in the bathroom eating the toothpaste (he emptied the fridge two hours ago) and Barry...

I don't think Barry actually exists. The others haven't said anything yet, but its not easy to say, "Hey, Guys. I think the man we've been drinking with for 10 years was just a group hallucination brought on by our low social status and barely suppressed inner desires combined with a joint drink problem that could wipe out a third world country."

So I keep quiet, watch the pretty lights in front of my eyes and look forward to seeing Barry next week. Its a full moon next week.

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