Because most of us work so hard through the week, the weekend tends to find the individual in a state of Weekend Corpse. A bottle or two of wine consumed with a meal on Friday evening, is soon followed by several whiskies and beers.
Now the world seems to be a much more friendly arena. By closing time, you're slumped on a chair with your head tilted back and your teeth showing like a wolf's fangs. You are carted home, unceremoniously, by your friends and dumped into bed.
You sleep till around 1 or 2 on the Saturday, then you slouch around like a half-asleep zombie with a headache. A shower brings you back to partial life, and a pulse is found again. You promise, oh how you promise yourself, that you will just nip to the pub for a few beers and a quiet chat with your friends.
By ten you are heading into town, and 20 minutes later, by now unsteady on your feet, you are volunteering for the karaoke.
You murder Billy Idol's White Wedding and stagger triumphantly back to the bar. You are sick at some point on the way to another bar in a shop doorway.
Your friends cart you home. You rise at 5 in the afternoon and remember that tomorrow you are back at work...groan. You fall asleep in the armchair, waking only to go to bed. In the 72 hours between leaving work and then returning, you have been asleep for 50, waking only to go to the toilet, eat and get drunk.
But, as you always tell your friends, you have to do something productive at the weekend. I mean who really wants to go to Ikea? I wonder?
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2 comments:
This would be marvelous, I often feel like getting tanked on a Friday.
And Saturday, and Sunday, and Monday, tee hee
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